


A Melting Spell

by themockingjayfromgallifrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Faerie AU, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Royalty, Seelie Court, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Unseelie Court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themockingjayfromgallifrey/pseuds/themockingjayfromgallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A faerie curse. A mysterious prophecy. An evil queen. A restless army. When Lisa Braedon disappears from the castle on her twentieth birthday, Prince Dean Winchester is determined to find her and break her curse with true love’s kiss. There’s just one problem. A faerie soldier, Castiel Novak, is the only one who can find her. And Dean hates faeries, thanks to the mysterious death of his mother when he was just a child.</p><p>Forced onto a journey of self-discovery, Dean finds himself making impossible choices that have deadly stakes. And when his confused feelings regarding a certain blue-eyed someone are thrown into the mix, he is forced to realize that maybe things aren’t quite as black and white as they might seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue
> 
> Summary: The girl looks to be about his age. Wide eyes and wavy brown locks frame her face, and she radiates an aura of cheerfulness. He almost immediately likes her.

Looking back, Dean’s memories of Lisa are good ones.

He remembers the first time he spoke to her. Dean was just nine years old at the time. He was sitting near the edge of the royal gardens, leaning his back against the sun-warmed stone of the castle walls. The young prince had heard the rumors of course, with all the serving girls flitting in and out of rooms, tittering excitedly amongst themselves as they set the fire and brought his breakfast. One name in particular circulated throughout the castle. Lisa Braedon. The girl was a foreign princess who had arrived at the Eridorian Castle that very morning. As Dean’s betrothed, she was to stay at the castle as King John’s ward until the time had come for the marriage to take place. 

Of course, Dean had fled to the gardens the moment he was left alone. All this talk of marriage left his chest feeling constricted and his stomach tied in knots. Dean’s young heart craved open spaces and fresh air.  
Sitting in the grass, Dean’s stubby little fingers repetitively tore up clover in clumps of green and brown. 

Lost in the sort of speculative thought which only a troubled nine year old is capable of, it takes him a moment to notice the girl standing in front of him. Dean looks up, startled. He has to squint into the bright sunlight, and he shades his eyes with a hand. 

The girl looks to be about his age. Wide eyes and wavy brown locks frame her round face, and she radiates an aura of cheerfulness. She plops down next to him, her dark green dress poofing out in a circle around her.  
“You’re doing it all wrong,” she says, in lieu of an introduction. “Here, I’ll show you.” The girl combs through the clover patch, picking the flowers until she has a fistful of them. She begins to weave them together with a practiced hand that suggests she has done this many times before. All Dean can do is watch, silently impressed by her skill. 

When the girl is finished, she holds a perfect circlet of clover, which she places majestically onto her own head.

He snorts as it slips down over her eyes. 

She immediately begins to pick more flowers. “I’ll make one for you now,” she announces with a cheery air. She pretends not to notice when Dean makes a face.

“What’s your name?” the girl asks, intensely focused on the task at hand. “I’m Lisa. Lisa Braedon.”

She gives him a small curtsey, or at least curtsies to the best of her ability while still sitting. The end result is a strange bobbing movement that makes Dean giggle. That is, until he realizes exactly what she has just said.  
His eyes widen. He stares at her as she continues to make the flower crown, oblivious to his bewilderment. Finally, Dean manages to stammer: “I think... I think you’re supposed to marry me or something.”  
She glances up, appraising him critically. “You must be Dean Winlester.” 

“It’s Winchester, dummy.”

She rolls her eyes, going back to gathering flowers. “Close enough. I’m still gonna make you a crown.”

Surprisingly, Dean finds that he likes this girl. 

She finishes quickly, examining the crown in her hands. Suddenly she is all formality, rising to her feet gracefully and extending her arms. The flowers hang inches from his face, and Dean fights the urge to sneeze. “I now dub thee Dean Winchester, King of the Gardens.” She smiles, wiping her hands on her skirt. “There. Now you look like a proper king.”

“Flowers are for girls, Lisa. Everybody knows that.” He likes the way her name feels in his mouth. “Why don’t you wear it?” Dean tosses he crown at her, aiming at her curly brown hair. It falls short by at least a foot, landing instead in the soft grass in front of her. “Anyways, I don’t want to play. I’m not even king yet. That’s my dad.”

“Yeah, but one day you will be.” Lisa grabs the clover chain again, placing it squarely back onto his head. It’s a little rumpled, and she takes a moment to arrange it on his head. “Besides, I’m the guest, so I get to choose the game, and I choose kings and queens. The king has to wear a crown. Those are the rules.” 

Dean scowls up at her, but as he opens his mouth to protest her small finger gently shushes him. “Look. I didn’t make the rules.” With a skeptical look from Dean, she adds, “Please?”  
Dean sighs- a theatrical, exaggerated thing- then reluctantly nods. “But it’s my turn to choose next. Come on, let’s go find my brother Sammy. We hafta play with him, too.”

She grins, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his feet. They race through the gardens together, giggles intermingling in the late afternoon sunlight. 

Fast forward four years. 

The Second Great Faerie War is in full swing, but the damage it has wrought is distant from the young prince. Indeed, the only way it has really affected Dean is the extra lessons that have recently been slotted into his busy schedule. These were deemed necessary by some old, dried out advisor whose name Dean has already forgotten. He is irritated; not only about having to learn Eridor's entire military history, but by the perfect summer day that taunts him through the open library windows.

Inside the library, it’s as gloomy as ever. Even in the middle of the day, sunlight struggles to filter its way through the small windows that line the room. Dean longs to be outside in the bright sun, to breathe fresh air deep into his lungs. The droning voice of Bobby (who has been designated his “official tutor”) combined with the musty smell of books has managed to lower Dean’s spirits even further.  
Dean drags his gaze away from the windows, sighing. God, this particular history lesson must have lasted weeks already. Dean glances at the clock again, knee bouncing spasmodically underneath the desk. It has hardly changed at all.

He feels a sharp smack on the back of his head.

“Ow!” Dean exclaims. “What was that for?”

“Pay attention, boy. This lesson ain’t gonna learn itself.”

He sighs again, resigning himself to watching the dust motes swirling lazily through the air.

The moment the clock strikes two, Dean is out of his chair. His books lie forgotten on the desk behind him as he practically sprints to the door, tuning out the gruff voice calling after him. Something about extra reading, it doesn’t matter. He is free for the rest of the afternoon. No lessons on propriety or politics, no meetings with his father, not even swordsmanship practice. Dean has a whole afternoon to himself, and he plans on using it.

Dean races through the corridors, rounding corners and dodging servants. He leaves a trail of disgruntled grumbling in his wake, but he doesn’t care. He can practically hear the stables calling his name.  
Dean rounds the corner leading to Sammy’s room and abruptly makes contact with a solid body. Both of them go tumbling head over heels along the flagstone floor. Dean hears shocked gasps, and someone even cries out. They skid to a halt, and Dean almost stops breathing before he realizes who it is. Thank god, it’s just Lisa. He can deal with Lisa.  
Dean scrambles to his feet, momentarily getting caught in her many skirts before he frees himself.

“I’m so sorry.” He offers a hand to her, and she hesitates before taking it. “I- I should have watched where I was going, but I was in a hurry and- I mean, I didn’t mean to- um, sorry… again.” 

“Thanks, Dean. It’s okay.” She winces, shaking out her dress. Her two chaperones swarm her in a buzz of concern. One shoots a glare in Dean's direction, and he has the decency to flush bright red.  
Lisa turns back to him, fixing him with a faux glare. Dean shifts from one foot to the other. He has never experienced simultaneous embarrassment and relief until now. “Watch where you’re going from now on, though." The severe look suddenly melts off her face, and she smiles playfully. "You wouldn’t want you to run into, I don’t know, King Taranis or something.”

Dean's breath catches in his throat, feeling anxiety pool in his gut at the mention of a fae. Even though those from the Seelie Court are supposed to be on their side, there is something about the unearthly creatures that unnerves him. "Don't even joke about that, Lisa."  
His voice comes out sharper that he means it to. He doesn't even want to consider what would happen if he did something as disastrous as offending the King of the Seelie Court, who is currently a guest at the castle. Everyone knows that insulting one is as good as a death sentence. Dean glances around, suddenly nervous despite the fact that they are far from the faerie quarters of the castle.  
Lisa's expression softens. She laces her fingers through his, and the small warmth comforts him. "Sorry. I forgot for a second about… well, you know…" She squeezes his hand gently, trailing off. "You don't have to feel so scared around them, you know. All the faerie here are officials from the Seelie Court. They won't hurt you. It’s the Unseelie you have to worry about. "

Dean tugs his hand out of hers, embarrassed. If anyone should be scared of fae, it’s Lisa. She’s the one with The Curse looming over her head. "I know that. I’m not stupid." She just looks at him more knowingly than any twelve year old has the right to be. 

“I had better be going. Embroidery lessons.” She rolls her eyes, making a face at him.

Dean can’t help but snort, and glances behind Lisa at the chaperones waiting, rather impatiently, for her to finish talking. “Yeah, I gotta go too. I’m gonna find Sammy and teach him how to ride a horse!” 

She shoots him a doubtful look over her shoulder. “Maybe you should start off with one of the ponies.” She waves, and he loses sight of her as she rounds the corner. He stares after her, chewing the inside of his lip in worry. 

Dean’s spirits are considerably dampened as he walks toward Sammy’s room. Just thinking about The Curse always leaves Dean with an uneasy feeling. 

Just over a year ago, it had been decided by the royal advisors that Lisa was old enough to learn about the terrible weight of the curse lain upon her as a baby. Of course, she reacted the way any ten year old should. After an hour of searching, Dean and Sam found her crying in a corner of the wine cellar. 

It took another hour of coaxing to calm her down. After a couple of deep breaths, she repeated what the counselors had told her. 

-

Everyone across the Five Kingdoms knew the story of Princess Lisa’s christening. The day she was born, all the bells in the land were rung to tell the glad tidings. A feast had been held, so grand and magnificent that six of the most important Seelie aristocrats had been invited. Each was furnished with a plate, spoon, knife, and fork- all made of the purest gold in the kingdom. Then, after all had eaten their fill, each faerie had granted the young princess a gift.

Dean counts them on his fingers.

Paramount beauty, a sweet disposition, grace in action and word, a voice like a nightingale, strength of character, and cunning wit. To the dismay of the entire kingdom, however, hardly a week had passed before Lisa’s queen mother unexpectedly breathed her last. Dean himself had lived through the rest of the story. The baby was betrothed to him, and at the age of eight became a ward in the Eridorean Castle. And up until now, that was the end of the story. 

Dean remembers how Lisa’s voice shook as she recounted the true story, the side that had never been told until now.

There had actually been seven members of Seelie aristocracy present at Lisa’s christening. Just as the sixth bestowed his final gift, however, he abruptly fell screaming to the marble floor. The other Seelie soon followed suit, clapping their hands to their pointed ears in a desperate attempt to shut out a sound that none of the humans were able to hear. 

A black light exploded through the great hall.

It blasted through the retinas of those nearest, blinding them. The rest of the guests clamped their eyelids shut, feeling the magyk pulse throughout the room. The only person who thought to act was Lisa’s queen mother, who rushed to the cradle in the midst of all the confusion and held the babe tightly to her breast. 

When everything faded, a dark figure stood tall in the center of the room. Andais, Queen of Air and Darkness and ruler of the Unseelie Court. 

She hadn’t lingered long. The queen was as clever as she was evil, and knew she was at her weakest this far out of her domain. She had only asked to see the young princess. 

When the Queen mother refused, the faerie laughed and struck her dead. Rendering the guards immobile with a flick of her elegant hand, Queen Andais approached the infant and picked it up with mock tenderness. Her bony wings flexed in anticipation. She smiled down at the baby, cooing and whispering, before granting a gift of her own. The Curse. 

All the sparkling faerie favors  
Cannot be princess's saviors  
On her twentieth year, a stunted number  
Sunset will find her in eternal slumber  
Lone antidote is true love's kiss  
But ardor's indifference is evil's bliss

Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, the queen vanished.

This was when the Seventh Faerie rose shakily to her feet. She knew her Magyk wasn’t strong enough to get rid of the curse entirely, but she could soften the blow. It was obvious that “eternal slumber” meant death for the young princess. The faerie raised her wand and declared that the princess would not die, but truly sleep until the curse was broken.

-

Lisa stopped here, her chest heaving as she attempted to regain her composure. Dean later learned that the king had called in a few favors, and various fae presently appeared in order to erase the memories of all the guests attending the christening. Only members of the High Court of Eridor were allowed to keep the true memories of that day. 

Dean sighs, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. In any case, they didn’t have to worry about the Curse for a few more years. He moves this thought to a backburner, where it simmers in one unseen-but-not-quite-forgotten corner of his mind. 

He finally reaches the Sam’s chambers. His brother’s private tutor, Ellen, is just making her way out of the doors. Dean grins at the sight of her. He has a deep fondness for Ellen, usually because she almost always carried little treats on her person that she is very generous with. The tutor smiles at Dean, and sure enough, does not disappoint. Shifting her stack of books to her other arm, Ellen reaches into one of her many pockets and tosses him a small, aluminum wrapped chocolate. 

“Sorry, kid,” she says, mussing his hair the same way she always does when she sees him. “I’m in a bit of a rush today. We should catch up later.”

“Sure, Ellen.” 

She sweeps past him, books tucked under one arm as her skirts swish behind her with every brisk step. The moment she is gone, Sam’s head peeks out from behind the doorframe.

“Dean?” Shining eyes look excitedly up at him from underneath floppy brown hair. “Are we going somewhere?” 

“Yep. Grab your riding cloak and we’ll get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

Dean grins. “Hurry up and you’ll find out.” He musses Sam’s hair good naturedly before pushing him in the direction of his wardrobe. The kid scampers to get ready, almost slipping on a pile of papers that are scattered all over the floor. Dean steps into the room and picks one up.

It’s a crude, charcoal drawing of three stick figures. Dean guesses that he is the tallest one, holding a crooked sword in one hand and a circular shield in the other. Another, slightly shorter stick figure is standing beside him. It also holds a sword and shield, but its scribbled brown hair is longer than Dean’s. He lets his gaze fall on the third stick figure. 

This one is a girl, if he’s assuming that the triangular shape of her body is supposed to be a dress. Her eyes are closed. It suddenly strikes him that this one is Lisa. Sam had drawn the two of them going to rescue her. Dean’s gut clenches as he looks at the drawing, and he lets it slip from his hands. All at once, his anxieties about The Curse return in full force. The paper makes a soft sound as it comes to rest on the floor. 

“Come on, Dean, let’s go!” Sam is waiting by the open door, and he looks almost comically excited. Dean takes a deep breath and forces his lips into a smile. Suddenly his day off doesn’t seem nearly as exciting as it had only an hour ago. But this is supposed to be something fun for Sammy. He can’t ruin it with his stupid mood swings. 

Dean shakes his head slightly to clear it. “Alright, alright. I’m coming.” And with that, they disappear out the door.

Eight years later, Dean can honestly say that he trusts Lisa more than anyone, besides Sammy. At this point, he can’t remember a time that they have been apart. He might even love her. 

The day she vanishes from the castle is the worst day of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: We have multiple reports coming in from different sources. Though nothing has been confirmed, we have strong reason to suspect that the Unseelie are violating the disarmament treaty. They are raising an army, sire.

Becky knocks on the door to Dean’s bedchamber. Dean can always tell it’s her because she always seems to knock once forcefully, as if to ensure she has your attention, and then again softly, as if to apologize for interrupting whatever it is that her betters are doing at the time. In this case, Dean had been sleeping.

“Prince Winchester, ser?” 

He groans before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His back creaks in protest and- damn it, he had fallen asleep in his boots again. Son of a bitch, he knew he shouldn’t have gone for that extra couple hours of training, but he just hadn’t been able to sleep. There’s something about hacking away at a straw dummy that lets you forget all about-

Shit. 

Today is Lisa’s twentieth birthday.

“Ser?” Dean hears the door open, and soft footsteps pad into his room. “Sorry, I’m a wee bit late. I’ll just get the hearth going for ye, then.”

Dean violently pulls back the drapery to his bed, and he hears her squeak in fright.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Dean slips out of bed and practically runs to the door, grabbing his jerkin on the way out. “No need for that fire today, Beck.” 

He strides quickly down the corridor, sidestepping a few sleepy looking servants. They glance at him strangely, as if surprised to see one of the royal family up so early. Dean hardly notices. Fear eats at his insides, dark and cold and forceful. Let her be safe, please just let her be safe.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to thump urgently on the door to Lisa’s bedchamber. The guards on either side of it ignore him impassively. “Lisa,” he shouts, an edge of fear creeping into his voice. “Lisa, are you in there?”

She answers the door almost immediately, motioning for him to be quiet. “For the love of Sidhe, Dean, quiet down. You’re going to wake the whole castle!” 

A wave of relief sweeps through him, even as he examines Lisa’s face. She is trying her best to look cheerful, but Dean immediately notices the dark circles under her eyes. 

“You look terrible,” he says, before mentally pinching himself. His brain is always too honest before coffee.

Lisa just snorts, motioning him into her room. “Even a faerie gift can only do so much. I’ve been too nervous to sleep.” She shuts the door behind them and pads barefoot to her bed. Its covers are neat and unslept in. 

A weak flame is flickering in the hearth, and the early morning light seems strained as it filters through the window. Something is out of place, and Dean stares out the window as he tries to pinpoint exactly what. When he finally grasps what is wrong, his eyes narrow. The adjacent castle courtyard is completely silent. The daily chatter of wildlife that usually greets the castle’s early risers is eerily absent. It’s as if even the animals are holding their breath, waiting for something awful to happen.

“You’ve noticed too, haven’t you?” Lisa gazes at the window absently. Her fingers are clenching and unclenching in the fabric of her nightgown.

The bed dips under Dean’s weight as he settles next to her. “Look at me. No, look at me. You’re going to be fine. Dad’s raided half the villages in Eridor to buffer the guard, and a dozen fae besides. They’ll gank that bat-winged bitch before she can say uncle.”

She smiles weakly, but her eyes fall to her lap. They both know he isn’t quite as confident as he pretends to be.

Of course, every possible precaution had been put into place. Everyone in the kingdom loves the king’s young ward, and Dean knows they’ll die if needed to protect her. The castle has even been warded against dark magyk, charms and sigils drawn on each of the four parapets. Even so, Dean plans on staying by her side the entire day. You can never be too careful.

God, how can this be his life? Normal people don’t have to think about curses, or fucking evil faeries. Normal people think about what they’re having for dinner. Normal people can step outside their walls without an entire armed guard breathing down their necks. Normal people hadn’t worried about Unseelie attacks for years, not since they were banished to the Badlands, north of Eridor. 

He sighs slightly as a sudden wave of bitterness washes through him. Who the hell is he kidding? The life of a Winchester is about as far from normal as it gets. 

Lisa breaks the silence. “Jeez, Dean, you smell rank. When was the last time you took a bath?” Her nose wrinkles delicately.

He lifts his arm and sniffs, for the first time really noticing his stained clothes and muddy boots. “The day before yesterday, I think?” At her frown, he hastily adds, “Look, I was gonna head to the bathhouse last night. Then I figured I should put in some more practice at the training yard. Guess I just got sidetracked.”

She rolls her eyes and points toward the door. “Baths. Now.” Before he can protest, she presses a finger over his mouth. It’s soft and warm, doing a thorough job at shushing him. “I’ll be fine for half an hour, Dean, I have my guards. You stink.”

“What? It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Could you please go? Dean, I can’t even breathe in here!”

“You know, you never mentioned that one of your faerie gifts was bossiness. Although,” Dean strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it that would actually explain a lot...”

She hits his shoulder, but a small smile is hovering on her lips. It’s a minor victory. “Bath, Dean.” 

He stands slowly, turning to face her. “I’m not sure this is the best idea, Lis.” She just rolls her eyes and gives him a nudge toward the door. 

“I’ll be back soon, alright? Stay here.” He kisses her lightly on the cheek before heading out the door.

Dean turns the corner, walking down the hallway. He walks… and walks… and soon realizes he has taken a wrong turn. This is the part of the castle where the noble’s children are tutored. Classrooms line both sides of the hall. Dean almost turns to retrace his steps, but suddenly stops. Why are there voices drifting out of one of the rooms? It’s a Sunday. Dean almost dismisses them until he hears words that stop him in his tracks. 

“Rumors… the Unseelie… too far this time…”

Backtracking, Dean presses his ear against the door. 

“Your majesty, with all due respect, I think this little matter is being blown way out of proportion.” Dean recognizes Alistair, the slimiest of the King’s three advisors. Just his voice sends shivers down his spine. Dean trusts Alistair just about as far as he can throw him, but the creepy bastard has been his father’s advisor for as long as he can remember. 

“That’s an absolute load of bollocks.” Dean identifies this voice immediately as Balthazar, the Captain of the Royal Guard. “We have multiple reports coming in from different sources. Though nothing has been confirmed, we have strong reason to suspect that the Unseelie are violating the disarmament treaty. They are raising an army, sire.”

“You think they’ve broken the treaty? It’s been seven years of peace, Captain, and what this kingdom does not need right now is war. I can overlook mere border raids.” Dean recognizes, with some surprise, the voice of his father. Whatever is happening must be serious.

“These aren’t just raids, sire.” Balthazar pauses. “Nightflyers were spotted on our side of the border less than a fortnight ago.”

Dean’s breath hitches for a second in his throat. “Nightflyers…” he breathes. 

“That’s impossible. Terms of our treaty state they can’t hunt within a hundred miles of the border.” 

“These supposed “sightings” are probably nothing, my liege. Bats, maybe. They migrate around this time, I believe.” Dean shivers as Alistair’s voice coils around him, slick and oily. “An easy mistake made by a simple peasant.” 

“These must be some bloody huge bats, then. If you ever peel your bony arse off that chair of yours and come on a survey up north, you may someday be able to tell the difference between the kind that eat bugs and the kind that eat people.”

“No need, dear Captain. I let laymen do my legwork.” 

“How dare-,”

“That is enough, gentlemen.” The king sounds annoyed. “I brought you here to council me, not to argue amongst yourselves. Balthazar, continue your report.”

There’s a pause as he gathers himself. “Besides these sightings, we have reports that goblins have been congregating in large numbers. Three raids have been conducted on the northernmost villages in just the last fortnight. The number of dead is estimated in the hundreds. I personally believe that this is only the beginning.”

Balthazar’s voice lowers, becomes more urgent. “You know as well as I do that goblins never organize into groups this big. Not without help, anyway. This is serious.”

Someone sighs, the sound defeated and familiar. Dean has often heard his father make that sound. 

“There’s nothing we can do if we want to avoid war.”

“This is too important to be ignored!” Anger has infected Balthazar’s voice. “People, your people, are dying as the Unseelie grow stronger, and yet we do nothing! How many more will you sacrifice?”

“And how many more will die if I do something?”

“Sire, if I may-,” Alistair interjects, but the king silences him.

“Say I issue a declaration of war on Andais, what then?” The King’s volume is rising, getting angrier and angrier. “Do you remember how many we lost ten years ago? Was it so long ago that you don’t remember what you have lost? What I… I let my subjects down. It won’t happen again. We must avoid war at all costs!”

Silence. The five kingdoms had sustained heavy casualties during the Second Faerie War, but Eridor had been the closest to the carnage. It seemed like every family in the kingdom had been touched by that brutal struggle. Balthazar himself lost his wife to a renegade nightflyer. 

“Sire, if I may say something?” This voice is hesitant and unfamiliar, breaking the silence. The boy sounds young, maybe in his teens, and Dean is surprised that he would be allowed to give council. 

“Right… right. Yes, go ahead.”

“There have been, um, rumors of some sort of… creature, I don’t know, drifting from village to village. It’s not much, just a name. The Starving Ones. It’s been said that Andais herself has been searching for them, though no one is sure exactly why.”

What the hell are “Starving Ones”? And what did old bat-wings want with them? Dean racks his brain, going through every monster he’s ever heard of. There are goblins, hellhounds, redcaps, Nightflyers, but never has he heard the name before.

Apparently no one else has, either. There are a few more minutes of murmuring, but their voices have been lowered. Dean presses his ear harder against the door, trying to make out what is being said. He is concentrating so hard that he doesn’t hear the footsteps that stop behind him.

Someone yanks his jerkin hard, almost tearing the collar as Dean is dragged to his feet. “What do you think you’re doing, boy,” a gruff voice hisses into his ear. “You wanna get yourself into trouble?”

Dean whirls around, ready to fight before he sees who it is. “Damn it, Bobby!” he whispers angrily. “You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!”

The old tutor just narrows his eyes. “You ain’t supposed to be here.”

“You know I should be in there right now! I’m not a kid anymore, Bobby. Despite what my father seems to think, I can handle some responsibility.” 

Bobby doesn’t seem convinced. He manhandles Dean down the hall, muttering about how you-take-one-break-for-a-goddamned-piss and how the-reckless-boy-can’t-keep-his-nose-where-it-doesn’t-belong. Dean goes along with it, knowing there will be more trouble if he doesn’t. 

Bobby practically throws him out of the corridor. He sure is strong for such an old guy. Dean rubs his neck tenderly where the jerkin chafed it. He watches Bobby disappear back down the hallway, cursing under his breath.

Remembering Lisa with a sudden jolt, Dean pushes what he had heard to the back of his mind. He makes a beeline for the bathhouse and soon finds himself jumping into the nearest tub.

The water in every tub is supplied by a natural hot spring running under the castle, and usually Dean enjoys his long, relaxing soaks. Not today, though. He washes quickly and jumps out, hastily donning clothes that a servant had left for him. Uneasiness has begun to pool in his gut. He’s been gone for far too long already. 

Dean practically sprints through the castle, avoiding servants with proficiency stemming from years of practice. He doesn’t bother to knock on Lisa’s door, throwing it open with a bang.

Empty. Andais had beaten him to it.

Well, fuck. 

“Lisa?” Dean croaks. He searches every inch of the room, as if Lisa would be hiding in her wardrobe or under her bedspread. The windows are all closed, locked from the inside. He rushes out to the corridor, fiercely addressing the guards. “Where is she?”

They just stare at him. 

“Lisa, where’s Lisa? You know, the princess I’m betrothed to? Remember her?” Dean is quickly approaching anger. Strike that, he is past anger. He has barreled past the yellow and into the red. This can’t be happening. God, he shouldn’t have left her alone. 

The guards burst into her bedchamber. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dean wants to shout, to rage at the guards for letting her go. But he doesn’t. Deep down, he knows this is his fault. If he had just stayed with her…

Something catches Dean’s eye. He turns, for the first time noticing something half hidden by shadow in the corner of the room. Weird. That definitely hadn’t been there before. Dean crouches down, getting a closer look at the object.

It’s a small polished spindle. Well made, but nothing special. Dean picks it up, turning it in his hands. It’s unusually heavy. A drop of blood rests on the tip. It doesn’t take a genius to guess whose. 

If there’s one thing Dean is sure of in this moment, it’s that Andais needs to die.

All the emotion, all the angerguiltfurygriefblame welling up inside him is shoved deep down. Dean packs it tight into a tiny box, rams it in until the lid closes. 

Dean pockets the spindle. He has a job to do.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: His hand falls warily to the hilt of his sword, hidden under the heavy fabric of his cloak. There are plenty of humans who blindly hate those of the Otherworld, who will lash out without provocation. Castiel has learned this lesson the hard way.

It's quiet. That's the first thing she notices. Not the gentle blanket of serenity that comes with the night, but an evil, oppressive quiet that speaks of void and solitude. It’s also dark, a pitch black nothingness that squeezes her, wound corset-tight around her body. The cold stone table underneath her saps her of warmth, chilling her body and draining her energy.

Lisa tries to open her eyes, and finds she cannot. 

She tries to move her hand, tries to bring it up to her face, but it remains limply at her side. Panic builds up inside her, threatening to rip her apart. Her choked cry gets stuck in her throat. 

Lisa cannot move. A tear trickles out of her eye, moving slowly down her face and into her hair. She is silent. She is still. She is screaming. 

Castiel wakes with a start.

He lets out a long breath, letting his eyelids fall shut once again. He swallows, raw throat chafing. The room holds the kind of heavy silence that speaks of recent screaming. Would this dream give him no peace? It had first come to him when the princess disappeared. Now it has become a nightly occurrence, jolting him awake and leaving him breathless every time without fail.

The unfamiliar room lends to his state of agitation. Even with the alliance made between humans and Seelie, he feels unsafe in the castle. There is no love lost between the two races, but it had been necessary for them to present a united force against the Unseelie Host. Castiel is a faerie captain surrounded by potentially inhospitable humans. 

Castiel sighs. If only he was at full power. Being on earth for so long has slowly chipped at his magyk, and he feels the weariness in his bones. 

He isn’t going to get any more sleep tonight. Castiel sits up, stretching his arms over his head before donning his soft cotton shirt. He gently threads his wings through the slits in the back, fluttering them softly. The gossamer brush against his shoulder blades is reminiscent of a caress, bringing him slight comfort. 

He roots through his dresser next, fingers finally closing around what he was looking for. He immediately feels better once the pendant is around his neck. He brushes it softly, warmth spreading along his fingertips as he does so.

Folding his wings flat against his back, he throws on a heavy cloak to ward off the chill of the evening. Then, he slips out of his chamber.

At this time of night the castle is deserted, with only the occasional skitter of mice to break the silence. The air is cool and dry, drafts floating around the castle like specters.

When Castiel finally reaches the gardens, he lets out a small sigh. The full moon casts a soft glow across the lawns, giving the whole place an ethereal look. It reminds him of home, the otherworld he has left behind to descend to earth. He suddenly feels a pang of longing.

Before, whenever he needed to clear his head he had walked the gardens of his home world. Something about the blanket of night has always been comforting. He sighs softly. This garden would have to do as a replacement.

He silently pulls up his hood, setting off down the path. Hands folded behind his back, he roams the gardens, eventually reaching the lake. Castiel stops for a moment, admiring the picturesque view of the moon hanging over the water.

He crosses the bridge halfway and sits, easing his legs through the rails. They dangle over the water, reflection shimmering and rippling on the surface. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice the man standing just off the bridge until he speaks.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

A startled yelp slips out of him, wings fluttering wildly under his cloak as he twists his body toward the voice. A young man is leaning against a tree a few yards away, his features obscured in shadow. 

He recovers quickly, standing. His hand falls warily to the hilt of his sword, hidden under the heavy fabric of his cloak. As guests, all Faerie are supposed to be safe in the castle, but Castiel isn’t sure if the rules of hospitality bind humans in quite the same way. And there are plenty of humans who blindly hate those of the Otherworld, who will lash out without provocation. Castiel has learned this lesson the hard way.

He keeps his voice cordial. “No. My apologies for being out on the grounds this late.” After a moment, he adds a bit defensively, “You’ve been watching me.” 

“Easy there. I was just passing through.” The man steps into the moonlight, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Happened to see you sitting here by the lake, and I guess I got curious. I’m just not used to seeing people out here this late.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but loosens his grip on the sword. This man doesn’t look like he means any harm. Now that the moonlight reveals his features, he looks quite young. His clothes are handsome and well-tailored- not a servant then- and their cut speaks of nobility. 

“Again, I apologize. I find that being outdoors calms me.”

“Bad dream?”

Castiel pauses, then inclines his head slightly.

“Yeah.” The man lets out a bitter huff of a laugh as he leans on the railing. “Yeah, me too. The lake is sort of like my hiding spot. A place to get away from everything else, you know?”

“I believe I do.” Castiel pushes back his hood. This man is being remarkably open, oddly inducing him to do the same. “It was not my intention to invade your privacy. I can go, if you-,”

“Jesus. I already said you were fine, no need to keep apologizing.”

“Sor-,” he stops himself, wincing. All of his elegance seems to have deserted him. “Thank you.” 

The man just smirks. “So, which scary brain monsters drove you out here tonight?”

It takes Castiel a moment to realize the man is asking about his dreams. “I may be mistaken, sir, but I believe that is none of your business.”

The man’s smirk grows wider. “I believe that you’re talking to a prince, and you should show some more respect.” 

Castiel narrows his eyes, suddenly putting two and two together. “Dean Winchester.” He has seen the prince wandering the castle of course, but always from a distance and not often enough to breed familiarity. “Of course, you are not my prince. I owe you nothing.”

Dean steps closer. “Alright, tall, dark, and mysterious.” (At this, Castiel quirks an eyebrow. If anything, he is an inch shorter than the prince.) “If you don’t answer to me, who do you answer to? Are you a spy from another kingdom? Come to steal all our secrets, huh? Or an assassin? From across the sea, maybe, just waiting for any chance you can get to gank the royal family?” With every word he gets closer, until they are hardly a foot distant. Cas’s head is tilted back slightly, compensating for the height difference. 

He can’t help but snort at the absurdity of it all. “A spy would hardly admit outright to being one. And if it was my purpose to kill you, I could have done so already. Easily.” 

“Sure, shorty. In your dreams, maybe.”

“Perhaps not. They aren’t quite that pleasant.”

He had meant it as a joke, but the prince’s grin suddenly falters. “Sorry.” He steps back, as if suddenly remembering something troubling. “I… sorry.” Something is clearly troubling him.

Of course- his fiancée, Lisa. News of the girl’s disappearance had spread quickly throughout the castle, but it had been too late for her. The loss has obviously taken a toll on Dean.

“I shouldn’t tease you when my dreams ain’t exactly a bundle of sunshine, either,” Dean says.

They stand in silence. The good-natured atmosphere between just moments before them has completely evaporated. After a moment, Dean clears his throat, sitting on the grass. Castiel follows suit, albeit uncertainly. They look out onto the lake, accompanied by the chirping of crickets. The noise is loud in the sudden quiet. 

“They’ve been about her. Every night.” The words slip out before Castiel can stop them.

“What?”

“My dreams.”

“Oh.” Dean is only half-listening, lost in his thoughts. 

“I don’t… don’t believe they can just be dreams, either. They’re visions… more like nightmares, really. I see her… no I am her. She’s sleeping, but she isn’t… I’m not explaining this right.” Cas pauses for a moment, thinking. “It’s more like she’s paralyzed. She can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even open her eyes. The worst part is, she’s fully aware of everything. She’s confused and scared and…” he trails off, pressing his lips together.

Dean’s gaze has shifted; he’s staring at him intently, eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea.” 

Dean doesn’t look convinced. He exhales sharply, turning his eyes back toward the lake. “They’re just dreams,” he mutters, almost to himself. “They have to be.”

They sit side by side, the silence wrapped tense around them. They are both thinking about Lisa. Dean picks up a pebble, turning it over in his hands.

“Do you think they’ll find her?” If there’s anything left to find.

“No sign of her yet.” Dean closes his eyes for a moment. “To be honest, I don’t think my father’s soldiers will be able to track her down themselves. They’ve been searching for weeks, and zilch.” 

“I’m not surprised. Andais is powerful. You’ll only find her if she wants you to.”

Dean opens his mouth and stops, as if he has stopped himself from saying something. Then he shrugs, looking at Castiel. “I promised not to talk about this, but… maybe you could help me puzzle through some things. Because to be honest, I have no idea what the fuck is going on here.”

Castiel just sits quietly, waiting for Dean to speak.

“The day Lisa vanished, I found this thing in her room. A spindle… you know, the things that hold the thread on those sewing wheels?”

“Yes Dean, I know what a spindle is.”

Dean shoots him a look before continuing. “Someone was trying to send us a message, I think. Maybe Andais, maybe not. In any case, I have no idea what the hell it could be.”

Castiel turns this over in his mind. It is highly unlikely that the message could have been left by anyone except for Andais. As far as they know, she is working alone. And it certainly is in character. The Unseelie Queen is well known for extracting as much pleasure as she can from the pain of others. As to what the spindle may mean… Castiel can’t think of any particular significance it may have.

“Is it a magyk object? Though rare, there are a few known to exist. If anyone should possess one, it would be Andais.”

“It’s been examined by experts,” Dean says. “As far as anyone can tell, it’s just an ordinary spindle.”

Castiel speaks slowly, hesitantly. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, Dean, but I think she may be enjoying this. She’s going to draw it out for as long as she can. I’m not surprised she is leaving you clues, though they may not even mean anything. She may just wish to watch you grasp at straws.”

“That goddamn bat-winged bitch,” he mutters. Dean is absentmindedly tossing and catching the pebble, his eyebrows furrowed. “I brought it to my father. He has a few connections. He… may be able to find someone who can track where it came from. Then we could follow it to the source, maybe find Lisa.” He shakes his head. They both know it won’t be easy.

“I should be out there,” Dean says suddenly. “I should be helping, doing anything but just… just sitting here.” His fist clenches, and suddenly he flings the stone as far as he can. It lands in the lake with a splash. The emotional turmoil he is going through is almost radiating off him in waves. 

After a moment of deliberation, Castiel slowly places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. His fingers curl gently, not sure if he’s doing it right. “I’m sorry. I’m sure she is fine.” Bright green eyes lock with his, and the air suddenly becomes harder to breathe. Freckles dot across the prince’s nose and cheeks, the moonlight highlighting them against his skin. He feels a shiver run through Dean’s body.

Dean laughs suddenly, a short huff of breath as his eyes flicker away. “You know, pouring out all my very un-manly anxieties to a virtual stranger has been a real blast. But seriously- all this serious talk, and I don’t even know your name.” Castiel lets his hand drop. It is tingling slightly- from the cold, of course.

“My name is Castiel.” 

He hears the prince snort. “Castiel? That’s kind of a mouthful, if you ask me.”

“It’s the name I was given at birth, Dean. I don’t appreciate you making fun of it.”

Dean holds his hands up, smiling a bit. “I wasn’t making fun. Promise, Cas.”

Cas. He likes that. He usually isn’t fond of nicknames- for instance, he loathes that his brother Gabriel insists on calling him “Cassie”- but coming from Dean, it sounds right.

Dean shivers again. “Christ, its cold. This sorry excuse for a doublet ain’t doing a thing to keep me warm.” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does a prince need to do to get some quality clothing around here?” 

Castiel doesn’t know what makes him do it, but suddenly he is shrugging out of his cloak. “Here. You need it more than I do.” He drapes it over Dean, leaning forward to do the clasp. Dean’s soft protests fall upon deaf ears. Fae are considerably more resistant to the elements than humans. It is far too easy for Castiel to forget how fragile they really are.

When he looks up, their faces are close. Castiel hesitates, fingers stumbling over the simple button. Dean’s eyes are locked on his, wide and confused. A tongue suddenly darts out between his lips, that hint of pink transfixing him. 

Wide green eyes meet Castiel’s, then flicker to his mouth, to behind him, and-

“Son of a bitch!” Dean jerks backward, scrambling away. His eyes are locked somewhere behind Castiel. 

“What?” He stands fluidly, whirling around, and sees… nothing. He turns back to Dean, giving him a quizzical look. But Dean is backing away, not stopping until he reaches the end of the bridge. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“You’re one of them.” He spits the word out like poison.

Dean is looking at him like he’s a monster. It takes a moment before it clicks- with the cloak no longer concealing them, his wings spread large and translucent in the moonlight. Not that he had thought he needed to hide them. Seelie are welcome in the castle. At least, they’re supposed to be. 

He stiffens. “Problem?”

Dean’s face has changed, twisted into a sneer. “Course not. Your kind has only murdered people I loved and cursed my girlfriend. But there’s no problem.”

“My kind? That would be the Unseelie you’re thinking of.” Castiel is angry now. This… this human should know better than to insult a Daoine Sidhe, of the Seelie Court no less. “If you hadn’t noticed, my kind helped humans to win the Second War.”

“Yeah, right after you deserted us when we needed you most. You’re all the same.”

Castiel goes still. His voice is quiet and dangerous, the anger running underneath it like a live current. “I’m nothing like those Slaugh traitors. Retract your statement before you force me to do something I shall regret.” 

“I won’t take back a damn thing. It’s the truth. You turn my stomach.”

Magyk flares up inside him, flowing white hot down his arm. Castiel says nothing, closing his eyes and shivering at the rush of sensation. It will not tolerate this insolence much longer. It guides his hand to the hilt of his sword, closing his fingertips gently around it. The faerie steel whispers against his sheath, singing for retribution.

This boy would do well to know the rules all Seelie are bound by. A serious slight against his honor would not be tolerated, by him or the magyk inside. He keeps his voice dangerously soft, a warning. “You would do well to apologize.”

“You don’t scare me.”

He unsheathes his sword. The blade is polished and razor sharp.

Castiel certainly doesn’t want to hurt the boy, but suddenly the magyk is forcing his muscles to contract, to raise the point until it is level with Dean’s chest. Alarm is quickly overwhelming his anger. He tries to fight it, to open his fingers and drop the sword, but his body is not his own anymore. 

He advances. Dean’s eyes go wide.

Castiel has no doubt he would be able to kill this human, even without magyk, but he cannot. If he is discovered standing over the body of Eridor’s eldest prince, war will break out between Seelie and humans all over again. 

“Christ… you’re crazy.” Dean is backing away, hand scrabbling at his belt before he realizes he is unarmed. Castiel tries to stop, to keep is feet rooted in place, but it is no use. His voice the only thing left to him now. 

“Dean, listen to me. Seelie are bound by four rules of magyk, one of them being Death Before Dishonor. That means as long as someone truly means a slight to my honor, the magyk inside will force me to exact vengeance. If you do not make an apology, it’s going to kill you!” 

Castiel is closing in. His arm is trembling, caught between mind and magyk.

Dean’s eyes are flickering from the sword to his face. His face is the picture of disbelief, but thankfully his common sense seems to prevail. “Alright. I’m sorry,” he mutters through his teeth.

The magyk goes out of Castiel in a rush. He stumbles, sword falling out of hand as he gasps in relief. “Thank y-.” 

A blow to his chest sends him reeling backwards. The breath goes out of him as he hits the ground. Dean is standing over him, the point of Castiel’s own sword resting lightly at his throat.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Castiel is panting. His eyes are fixed on Dean’s. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I didn’t mean… I couldn’t control what I did.”

The pressure at his throat increases, the tip drawing blood. A drop flows crimson down the side of his neck.

“Wait! Please listen to me, Dean.” The pressure doesn’t ease up, but at least he isn’t dead. 

“You have one minute. Talk.”

“This is the price I pay,” Castiel explains. He swallows gingerly, tasting blood. “In exchange for all we can do to heal, to help… our free will is taken away. All faerie are bound by certain laws, both Seelie and Unseelie. Even if we don’t want to follow them- and believe me, it was not my desire to murder you in cold blood- ,”

“Why the hell should I believe you?” Dean is furious, his eyes wild and his cheeks flushed. Some of his anger at Lisa’s kidnapping is spilling over into this moment, overriding his common sense. As inappropriate as the thought is, Castiel can’t help but marvel at how beautiful Dean looks in this moment. 

“Because I’m telling the truth!” he shouts, voice breaking. Dean flinches. “I have been nothing but honest with you since we have met, Dean.”

He glances upward, and is met with a hot stare. Dean’s green eyes are bright with rage. 

He is bracing for the end when the pressure leaves his throat. Dean throws the sword to the ground beside him, leaving Castiel gasping for air. It is at this moment that he realizes how far toward the mortal state he has fallen. Despite the thousands of years he has lived on this earth, the steel of a blade has reminded him how easily his time here can end. 

Castiel props himself up on his elbows, staring at Dean’s back. He is walking away with hardly a backward glance. Suddenly he pauses, not bothering to turn as he speaks. “I don’t want to see you out here again.”

Castiel says nothing. He only watches the retreating figure until it is out of sight.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Tick tock Dean, time’s running out for your precious princess. What’s it gonna be?

Dean’s reflection is warped and stretched in the polished marble floor. Cold seeps through the knee of his pants as he kneels, head bowed in the throne room. The room is large and grand, fit for the loftiest of kings, but also stark. It has the air of a priceless antique: look, but don’t touch. Dean has always felt irrelevant in here, lost in the high ceilings and tasteful decorations. 

“Stand, son. We have no time for formalities.” Dean rises without hesitation. His father always seems to have that effect on him. “Come, stand by me. We’ve found someone who may be able to help us.” The king’s voice is sharp and commanding, despite the exhaustion evident in his face. Dean feels the same way. After almost a month without a lead, he can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation at his father’s words. They may finally be able to get somewhere. To find Lisa.

Dean catches Sam’s eye. His brother nods, unobtrusively leaning against a pillar as he watches the proceedings. Dean feels better knowing he’s in the room.

“Bring her here,” the king continues. “Quickly, now!” Two guards hasten in, each tightly gripping the arm of a woman. She is pale and slim, and pads in silently on bare feet. Bells jingle on a string around one ankle. Her eyes are covered with a length of cloth. Despite the fact, her stride is sure and her chin is high as she enters the throne room. 

Dean’s hand goes to the spindle resting in his pocket, only a layer of cloth separating it from his fingers. Is it just his imagination, or had it jerked when she had entered? 

His father gets right to the point. “Your name, woman,” he demands.

She takes a moment before answering. When she does, her voice is slow and measured. “Lilith, sire.” 

“Lilith what?”

“Just Lilith.”

“And you’re the seer?”

Her mouth quirks. “Is that what you call it?” Though she addresses the king, she seems to be looking straight at Dean despite the cloth over her eyes. He can feel her gaze like an itch under his skin, squirming and prickling and dissecting his every thought. It’s only been thirty seconds, and Lilith already rubs him the wrong way.

“Answer the question.”

“I prefer the term, ‘witch’.”

Dean hears his father inhale slowly, his patience with Lilith already running thin. It’s been a long month.

He speaks up. “We can call you a sugar plum fairy if you want us to. Doesn’t change the fact that we need your help.” 

She shifts her focus toward Dean, her tongue making an appearance as she licks her lips. The expression underneath that cloth is almost predatory. Dean keeps his face as neutral as possible, but he has to stop his hand from inadvertently going to the hilt of his sword. This woman gives him major heebie-jeebies. 

“Sure, handsome. I can help you out. For a price, of course.” 

“Name your price, witch. Gold, silver, rubies-,”

“I’m not talking about money. I want something a little more… valuable.”  
7  
He’s confused. Something feels off about this. Dean furrows his brow before Sam catches his eye again. He shakes his head urgently, hair flopping into wide eyes. Apparently Sam knows what she’s talking about, and he doesn’t like it. At eighteen, the kid isn’t even technically old enough to be here, much less give Dean advice. Sammy is as stubborn as a mule though, and had insisted that he meet this woman. Lisa was his friend too, he had said. 

Dean ignores him, turning to his father. The king looks grimly back at him. “It’s your decision, son,” he says gravely. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” Dean asks. 

“It’s not like you’ve got much of a choice, the way I see it.” Lilith grins. “Tick tock Dean, time’s running out for your precious princess. What’s it gonna be?” 

Dean wants to trust his gut instinct. To tell Lilith to forget it, to find someone else, but… he knows he can’t. He’s desperate, and they both know it. “Fine.”

“We have a deal?” Lilith asks.

This is so wrong on so many levels. But what other choice does he have? He has to find Lisa before it’s too late. 

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, a slight quiver in his voice betraying him. “Deal, or whatever. What do you want?”

Dean has to turn away from the shocked look on his brother’s face. Lilith, on the other hand, is positively dripping with smug satisfaction. “For a start, you can get these manacles off me. Am I your prisoner, or am I the person who’s gonna help you find your sweetie?” Dean nods, and a guard unbolts the cuffs. Lilith rubs her tiny wrists, faking a grimace. “That’s better.”

“Is that it?”

“At the moment. I’ve got some good news for ya, pumpkin!” She claps her hands together in mock excitement. “You don’t have to pay anything up front. That’s right, it’s all free! For now.” She extends her arm, holding up her index finger. “You owe me one little thing. You can think of it as a favor, of sorts.”

“A favor?” Dean asks, confused. The only creatures who requested this sort of payments were-

The realization strikes him. “You’re not human, are you?”

Lilith giggles. “Took you long enough to catch on, didn’t it?” Dean’s hand goes to the hilt of his sword as she raises her arms, but she simply undoes the coarse cloth that covers her eyes. It falls to the floor, revealing milky white orbs without any pupils. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

She holds up the spindle. Dean does a double take, then checks his pocket. It’s empty. Son of a bitch, how the hell had she gotten it? Some of the guards take a step forward, but the King holds out a hand to stop them. It’s too late. The deal has been struck. 

Lilith brings the spindle to her face, examining it slowly. She sniffs it, inhaling sharply before resting the tip of the spindle on her tongue. It draws blood, and she audibly swallows. “Yep, that’s the stuff.” She grins. “This is powerful. You’re lucky we made a deal, sweetie, or I may have been tempted to keep this little trinket for myself.”

“Just get on with it, please.” Dean knows he shouldn’t be impatient, but he sensed that they were closer than they had ever been before with a breakthrough. 

Lilith just tuts, shaking her finger at him. “Someone’s eager. Fine then.”

She jabs the spindle into her finger, letting the blood drip onto the floor. Then she begins to chant, her high voice replaced by a deep guttural one that Dean can feel in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t recognize the language, but it feels ancient. A wind picks up in the throne room, increasing in speed until Lilith’s hair and dress are whipping around in every direction. The chanting grows louder and louder as Lilith’s eyes begin to glow with a bright white light.

Dean’s hand grips the hilt of his sword tightly. This is dark magyk, but it’s too late to turn back now. He hopes he has made the right decision. 

Suddenly Lilith begins to speak in that same guttural voice, but now Dean can understand her.

Encircled behind thorny gates  
The frozen princess ere awaits  
Spindle's thread will mark the way  
For a fortnight and a day  
If to this time you do not keep  
She shall be lost in eternal sleep  
In total, journeyers be five  
But four of these return alive  
When she is found while lost in dreams  
All may not be as it seems  
So warning to those who partake  
Unite thyselves, then she shall wake

Damn it, another prophecy? Dean wanted a straightforward answer, but apparently he isn’t going to get one. 

Suddenly, Dean’s attention is drawn back to the center of the throne room. A very strange thing is happening to the spindle. It too begins to glow, and suddenly a white thread of light shoots out of the tip. It leads out of the room and into the hall, the glow intensifying before it fades to nothing. The wind dies down, Lilith stops chanting, and suddenly the throne room is silent. Every face is shocked as they stare at the witch, who has dropped to her knees at some point in the mayhem. 

Lilith looks up, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth as she smiles. “I got a little more news for ya,” she croaks, her voice hoarse. It suddenly seems very small in the spacious room.

“If you want any chance of succeeding on your quest, pretty boy, you’d better listen up. Gather these people before you set out. They are vital.” She counts on her fingers. “You’ll need Sammy over there, of course. You’ll also need Joanna Harvelle and Charlie Bradbury. Let’s see, there’s one more…” 

She pauses for a moment, counting out four on her fingers. Then she giggles. “Hm, interesting. Castiel Novak is the only one who can work the spindle. I wasn’t expecting to send a faerie off on this little quest, but life is just full of surprises!”

Dean has stopped breathing. Castiel…

“You must have made a mistake,” he says, his voice shaking slightly. He thinks back to his last encounter with Castiel, and how badly it had ended. “I can’t bring Cas on my quest. He’s-,”

“Someone you’ll need to find your darling princess,” Lilith interrupts. “I know you’ve got your little prejudice to overcome, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Lilith picks the cloth back up from the floor, fixing it over her eyes once more. “I’ve got more deals to make.”

She turns to Dean, the predatory grin back on her face. Even with the cloth over her eyes, he almost swears that she winks at him. “I’ll see ya in ten years.” And with that, she vanishes. 

Sam breaks free of the stunned guards’ grip. Scooping up the forgotten spindle on his way, he hurries toward Dean.

“None of that sounded good,” Sam worries. “It seems like we only have a little over a fortnight to find her, and we don’t even know where we’re going. And who the hell is Castiel?” It takes Dean a moment to realize his brother is even speaking. His mind is still whirling with everything that has just happened. He has so many questions, but all he is able to say is, “Why the hell do they always have to rhyme?”

“What?” Sam’s brow is furrowed.

“All the goddamn prophecies. They rhyme. What’s the point?”

“Does that really matter?” Sam sounds exasperated. He runs a hand through his long hair, pulling it out of his face. “Damn it, Dean. That was stupid. You know that whatever you just promised her isn’t going to be worth it.”

Dean is just tired. There’s nothing that can be done about it now. “If we find Lisa, it will be. I’ll be fine, Sammy. What do you think all that meant, anyway?”

A line appears between Sam’s eyebrows, something that happens when he is deep in thought. “From what she just said, sounds like Lisa is trapped somewhere. Obviously. And remember that weird light thread that came out of the spindle?” Sam pauses, making sure that Dean is following. 

“Well, the prophecy said that spindle’s thread will mark the way, so I think that it probably leads to Lisa. Problem is, the thread disappeared. I think your friend Castiel can help with that problem, if Lilith was telling the truth. As for the rest of it… well, we can talk about that later.”

Dean knows he’s thinking the same thing as Sam. Four of these return alive. Someone isn’t going to make it back. Sam is right. It’s best not to dwell on the fact.

Sam suddenly smiles, punching his brother lightly in the arm. “Cheer up, Dean. We’re closer to Lisa than we’ve been in a month. All we need to do is get Jo and Charlie, and you can find this Castiel guy-,”

Dean cuts him off. “Look, I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“Wait, why?”

“Let’s just say that we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. Anyway, he’s a fucking faerie.”

Sam sighs. “How many times have we had this conversation, Dean? You know that your prejudice is-,” 

“Don’t start, Sammy. You know how I feel about them. That’s never going to change.” I’ll never be able to trust one. Not after what they’ve done to Lisa, not after all the hurt they have caused to every family in the god damn kingdom. Including mine.

Sam releases an exasperated sigh. “I’m sure Castiel is fine, though. Now that I think about it, I’m almost sure I’ve heard the name before. Castiel Novak. He’s one of the Seelie Captains, isn’t he?”

Dean has no idea. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still one of them.” Never mind that he still has the midnight blue cloak neatly folded at the bottom of his dresser drawer. He should have thrown it away, should have burned it, but for some reason he hasn’t. There is something about Cas… well, Dean isn’t going to think too much about it. 

“Jesus, Dean, can’t you put your ridiculous racism aside for just one second?” Sam asks angrily. “Don’t you care about finding Lisa?”

“Damn it, of course I do! But we can’t trust a faerie to help us!” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Sam hisses. “Your whole attitude toward them is baseless, especially after all they have done to help us.” He’s starting to get angrier, his volume increasing as he berates Dean. 

“You’d think after all these years, some sense would penetrate that thick head of yours!” He continues. “You can’t hate all faeries for what a few have done. I don’t want that, and I’m sure mom wouldn’t have wanted it either! It’s not Castiel’s fault that she’s dead!”

“You think you know what mom would have wanted?” Dean is shouting too now. Sam shouldn’t have brought her into this. “Mom wouldn’t have wanted us to work with her murderers! You know as well as I do that the Seelie army could have ended the war earlier, but they didn’t! By the time they fucking helped us it was too late. She was already dead. Don’t tell me Cas wasn’t a part of that.”

“Look, everyone made sacrifi-,”

“Just drop it, Sam, he is not coming with us.” Dean clenches his fist to stop it from shaking. “I’m going to mount Impala. We’re riding out tonight, without the faerie.”

Dean turns on his heel and storms out of the room, too angry to even glance behind him. He doesn’t need some fucking faerie’s help, and he certainly doesn’t need another lecture from his little brother. 

Dean makes his way through the castle. When he finally reaches the stables, he lets out a long sigh. The events of the day suddenly become too much, and he slumps against the stable wall. Dean breathes deep, inhaling the familiar smells of straw and leather and horse dung. 

He’s closer to Lisa than he’s been in a month, but he still can’t find it in himself to feel even a little excited. Instead, he’s exhausted. With all that’s been happening over the past couple of weeks, he hasn’t been getting much sleep. Even when the opportunity to catch a few winks had presented itself, Dean’s mind had kept him up with worries about Lisa, the Unseelie, even Castiel…

If Lilith is telling the truth, he knows that Castiel will have to join the party despite his protests. 

Dean thinks back to their first meeting a little over a week ago. He’s seen Cas a few times since then, but always from a distance. They haven’t acknowledged each other. It’s as if they don’t know each other, as if Dean hasn’t already poured out all his anxieties to this virtual stranger. And then there was the whole deal with Cas almost killing him. 

He lets his eyes fall shut. The resigned look on Cas’s face has been permanently etched into Dean’s mind. The moment when Dean had him on the ground, inches from death, and how easily the faerie was able to lie about not being able to control his actions- but then again, he had plenty of opportunities to kill Dean and he hadn’t, so maybe he was telling the truth, he’d even given him his cloak after all, although his kind has already proved that they can’t be trusted, so how can Dean even- 

Damn it. He needs a drink.

“Prince Winchester, sir?” Dean’s eyes fly open, and he finds himself staring at a rather nervous looking stable boy. “Sorry to interrupt your, um… would you like me to saddle Impala for you?”

Dean waves him off. “No, I’ll do it. Fetch supplies for my journey, but pack light. I don’t want anything to slow me down.”

“Right away, sir.” The boy scurries out of the stable. Dean lets his eyes fall shut again, taking a moment before he pushes himself off the wall. 

He has a princess to rescue.

-

Castiel takes a deep breath, letting the world come into focus around him. A bead of sweat meanders down his cheek, finding its way to his chin. He raises his sword an inch higher, tensed and ready.

Twang! The arrow comes speeding toward him, and Castiel reacts. He smoothly slices his sword upwards, simultaneously pivoting on the balls of his feet. The two halves of the arrow fall to the ground. Twang! Twang! He bends backward to dodge the second arrow, propelling himself back up with a sharp beat of his wings to catch the third. He drops his sword and pulls the longbow off his back, sending the arrow back at a target suspended in the middle of the field. It hits the bullseye with a thunk. 

All of this happens in the space of a few seconds. Castiel returns the longbow to the harness on his back, then picks up and sheathes the fallen sword. He nods at the group of trainees around him. 

“Eventually, you’ll be able to do all that and more,” he tells the awed faeries. “Until that time, we will be working on the basics. Everyone choose a partner. We will be shooting at the targets on the other side of the field.” He gestures to a row of dummies lined up on the far end of the archery pitch. 

The group silently breaks away to begin archery practice. Castiel is about to head over to watch when he hears his name being called.

“Master Novak, a word if you please!” 

He turns toward the voice, seeing a rather fat, ruddy faced messenger hurrying toward him. Castiel waits for the man to reach him.

“Message for you,” the man pants, handing him a letter. It’s slightly damp with sweat, and Castiel gingerly takes it in his hands. He turns it over, surprised to see the royal seal imprinted in the wax. 

“Thank you,” he says to the messenger. The man bows, shooting him a nervous look before shambling back toward the castle. 

Castiel waits until he is back in the privacy of his room to open it. 

 

Castiel Novak

The High Court of Eridor formally summons you to the stable yard tomorrow at dawn. Prepare for a journey of indefinite length. Your duties will be covered by a substitute until further notice. All will be explained in greater detail tomorrow morning. 

Deepest regards, 

Sam Winchester 

Castiel carefully re-folds the note and sets it down on his bedside table. Sitting on the bed, he glances out of his small window. Sunset is in about an hour. 

He had suspected that this would happen. It obviously has something to do with the princess. His connection with her has only grown stronger in the passing weeks. The dreams have gotten worse, to the point where he hardly sleeps anymore. His nights have grown restless, Lisa’s agony manifesting every time he drifts off.

As terrible as the dreams are, he almost prefers them to his waking thoughts in the early hours of the morning, which tend to wander toward dangerous places. 

Places like the hollow between Dean Winchester’s collarbones, right at the base of his neck. Places like bright green eyes lit up in the moonlight, or the soft curve of pink lips. They are perilous things for a faerie to think about, but he can’t seem to help himself.

Castiel knows he is being ridiculous. He stands abruptly, opening his wardrobe and rooting around in the back until he finds his saddlebag. He packs quickly and efficiently for the journey, doing his best to put all thoughts of Dean Winchester out of his mind. The man hates him anyway. The few times that they had encountered each other in the castle, Castiel had done his best to ignore the odd looks that had been thrown his way by the prince. It is for the best that they limit contact with each other as much as possible.

Really, it’s a stroke of luck that he’s been chosen to leave the castle. At least this way there won’t be any danger of running into Dean.

Castiel holds onto this comforting thought throughout his attempts to drift off to sleep. When he rises the next morning, drained and miserable, he grabs his bags and heads for the stable yard. The early morning light filters through the clouds on the horizon, illuminating a few figures moving about.

His hopes for avoiding the prince are crushed the second he catches sight of Dean saddling one of the horses. Dean doesn’t spare as much as a glance in his direction. In fact, it’s almost as if he hasn’t seen Castiel at all.

“You must be the faerie!” A smiling woman with flaming red hair is walking toward him. She is clad in leather armor, a sword resting comfortably at her hip. “I’m Charlie, it’s nice to meet ya!” 

She grabs his hand, shaking it eagerly, and Castiel feels himself soften. There’s something about this human woman that reminds him of his sister, Anael. It must be the hair. “My name is Castiel, and the pleasure is all mine,” he says. 

“Ooh, the voice!” She giggles, though he has no idea what she means. “Anyway, Sam- sorry, Prince Winchester- is out behind the stables. He said he wanted to talk to you once you got here.” 

Castiel thanks her, sparing another glance at Dean. The prince has one hand resting on his horse’s saddle. The other is resting on the hilt of his sword. Dean’s bright green eyes lock with his, and Castiel can’t see a trace of the lighthearted, earnest man he first met on the bridge. All he sees is cold, hard hatred. 

His wings flutter slightly. Turning away, Castiel pushes down the anger (and inexplicable pang of hurt) in his chest. He finds Sam behind the stables, brushing down a chestnut mare amidst piles of hay. 

“Is that not the stable boy’s job?” Castiel asks curiously.

“Christ!” Sam jumps, the brush almost falling out of his hand. The mare whinnies softly, and it almost sounds like laughter.

“My apologies,” Castiel says. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Sam huffs a small laugh, turning to face him. “Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s usually pretty hard to sneak up on me.”

“Bullshit!” calls a voice from the far end of the stable. Castiel turns in time to see a woman’s face peeking out from behind a stable door, blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders. “It’s pathetically easy to sneak up on Sam. Don’t you believe a word he says!” Her head disappears back around the corner.

Castiel is taken aback by this overly familiar breach of etiquette, but Sam just grins. “That’s Jo. She can be pretty annoying, but she’s basically family. Unfortunately, she’ll be coming with us.”

“Hey! I can hear you!”

“You’re supposed to!” Sam calls back. He drops the brush in a bucket, going to the wall of the stable where a saddle is already waiting. He picks it up and carries it over to the mare. “To answer your question, Castiel, it’s supposed to be. I always liked to do it myself, though. It builds trust with your horse, and anyway, it’s kind of fun.”

Castiel finds himself liking the younger prince. He wonders what went wrong with the other one. 

“About your letter,” Castiel says uncertainly, thinking back to Dean in the yard. “I thought I may be going on some sort of search. Was I mistaken?”

“Nope,” Sam replies. “You’re going on the search, in fact. You’re part of the prophecy.” As Sam fills him in on the events of this afternoon, about the witch and the prophecy and the spindle, Castiel finds himself growing more and more apprehensive. Why him? Why had he been chosen to save someone he hardly knew? And how is he going to spend so much time around Dean, especially since it’s clear that the prince doesn’t want to have anything to do with him?

Sam seems to read his thoughts. “Don’t worry about Dean. He’s an idiot, but he’ll come around eventually. He just has a lot of… stuff to work through.”

“Ah.” That’s all Castiel is able to say. “It’s just that our last meeting didn’t go very… smoothly.”

“Funny, he said the same thing. Just don’t worry about it.” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, making Castiel jump. He isn’t used to any sort of physical contact, so the sudden gesture takes him by surprise. “Why don’t you pick out a horse?”

A few minutes later the two head toward the yard, Sam leading the mare behind him. Castiel holds the reins of a black stallion, saddled and ready for the journey. The pale light of dawn filters through the portcullis of the castle gate. The drawbridge has already been lowered, and three figures are waiting in the yard. Dean’s head is thrown back mid-laugh, but when Castiel approaches he cuts off abruptly. 

“Are we ready to go?” Charlie asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension. She is already mounted and eager to set out. 

“Almost. We need to know where we’re going.” Sam holds his hand out to Dean, who wordlessly reaches into his saddlebag and passes him a small wooden object. 

The second Castiel’s hand touches the spindle, he feels a jolt of magyk travel up his arm. Spots begin to swim before his eyes, the white hot feeling spreading and intensifying throughout his body. The spindle begins to glow, and suddenly a thread of white light shoots out of it. It travels out the bridge and down the road to the north, showing the way like a beacon. 

Castiel is shaking. There is more magyk in his body than he can handle, threatening to overload his system. He wants to drop the spindle, but it’s like his fingers are glued to it. He tries desperately to unclench them, off balance as he stumbles backward. His breathing is ragged, his wings are beating jerkily, the magyk is burning through him, oh god, it’s too much-

The spindle is slapped roughly from his trembling hand. The sensation suddenly stops, and he falls heaving to the ground on his hands and knees. 

“Cas!” Someone is shouting. The voice sounds strangely like Dean’s. “Damn it, what the hell happened?”

“I have no idea,” Sam replies. Someone is trying to help Castiel to his feet. He waves them off, trying to catch his breath. Never before had he felt something so painful or so tainted by dark magyk. 

After a moment, Jo pulls him to his feet. “So that was a bad idea,” she says with a forced smile. 

“No shit,” says Charlie with a snort. “Are you alright, Cas?”

“M’ fine,” he mumbles, breathless with pain. “Give me a moment, if you would.”

“Sure, of course,” she says. “Take all the time you need. I just have one question.” Charlie furrows her eyebrows. “The thing didn’t act that way when Sam or Dean touched it. How could it have done this to you?”

“It must be because he’s a magical creature himself.” Sam answers. He has dismounted his horse and is in a crouch, studying the spindle where it lies in the dirt. “Magyk stimulates magyk. Though I had no idea it would be so painful. Sorry about that.” Castiel watches out of the corner of his eye as Sam stands, his face lined with concern.

“Please, don’t apologize,” Castiel says, straightening. He takes deep breathes, letting the pain slowly ebb away. “No one could have predicted the effect the spindle might have had on me. And I may well have to do it again. Multiple times, in fact, if we wish to stay on the right path.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” Castiel turns, surprised to see that it is Dean who has spoken. The prince’s hands are clenched into fists, and he seems to be struggling with the words. He has an almost guilty expression on his face, but he stays a safe distance from Castiel. 

“You don’t have to,” he replies. Castiel pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, using it to pick up the spindle. He wraps it up, tucking it into his pocket. “I’m telling you that I will. If that’s what it takes to find your princess, I would be more than happy to do so.” 

“But why?” Dean seems genuinely confused.

He sighs. “You seem to think I am some sort of monster, Dean. I can assure you, that isn’t the case.”

The pain in his body has softened into a dull, manageable ache. Castiel mounts his horse smoothly, making sure that his sword belt is fastened securely onto his hips. They need to be well prepared for the journey ahead. The trail leads north into the Badlands.

Castiel glances around him. To his surprise, his companions seem to be waiting for him to lead the way. He looks at Sam, who nods at him in encouragement. 

He turns, spurring his horse on. They follow the trail heading north, and Castiel doesn’t look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: For the first time since the start of the journey, maybe even since he has come to the mortal world, Castiel feels true happiness.

The group has already fallen into a routine.

Castiel holds the spindle every morning for just long enough to determine which way they need to be travelling. So far, the thread has been leading them further and further north. He has time to recover until mid-day, when he does it again to confirm that the group is headed in the right direction. It’s taken a toll on him over the past few days, but now that they are prepared the pain hasn’t been as severe. There is always someone to take it from him after a few seconds, to give him a drink of water and help him to his horse.

He sees the guilt on the faces of each person every time the spindle touches his hand. Sam, Jo, and Charlie do their best to make up for the hardship. The night before, Jo had caught a rabbit. She gave him a whole thigh, along with a pat on the back and a “you’ve earned it, buddy.” Castiel is a vegetarian, of course, but still he had appreciated the gesture. Sam does his best to keep Castiel engaged, asking questions about his home world and the dynamics of the Seelie Court. He’s happy to answer all of Sam’s questions, and it’s nice that he seems genuinely interested. Charlie’s non-stop antics break up the tedium of the constant travel, seeing as they can’t move at a pace too fast lest they exhaust the horses. (“What did the knight say to the sad horse? Any guesses? Come on guys. ‘Why the long face!’”)

For the most part, Dean travels in silence. Castiel almost can’t blame him. All of them are worried about Lisa, but Dean has taken it the hardest. Castiel knows that he blames himself for what’s happened to her. Couple this with the fact that he’s in the constant presence of a faerie, and his dark mood is understandable, even if it isn’t rational. Castiel tries not to let it bother him.

They reach the river in the late morning of the third day. Castiel reigns in his horse beside Charlie, and they look onto the rushing waters. They all know what this means. The river is only half a day’s ride from the northernmost border of Eridor, and the Badlands. They’re close to dangerous territory. “It’s too deep to cross here, guys,” Charlie says. “The current would pull us under if we tried.”

“What if we rode the horses across?” Sam asks. “They might be able to do it.”

“Not with us on their backs.” Dean turns his horse parallel to the river, urging it to walk forward. “We need to ride upriver, see if we can find a bridge. Come on, there’s no time to lose.”

“Hold on a second.” Sam shades his eyes, then points across the river. “We could let the horses swim across first, and use that ourselves.”

Castiel follows his finger, seeing a small rowboat secured on the other side of the bank. It’s bobbing up and down on the water, rope pulled taught as it strains against its fastenings. It should be big enough to hold at least four people.

“There’s a problem with that idea, genius.” Jo has a hand on her hip. “It’s on the other side. If we were already over there, we wouldn’t need to cross, now would we?”

Suddenly, Sam turns toward him. He jerks his head at the rowboat. Castiel sighs softly, dismounting his horse. He’s still tired from this morning’s spindle session, but he has enough strength in him for a short flight.

“Um… what’s he doing?” Charlie is looking from Castiel to Sam, feeling like she’s obviously missing something. 

“These things on my back aren’t just for show,” Castiel says. He hears Dean snort, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care. He has decided that he won’t let the disdain of the prince affect him any longer.

He beats his wings experimentally. Castiel hasn’t needed to fly for a long while, especially while living around humans. Suddenly, he’s excited to be in the air again. “Give me a moment, and I’ll bring it over.”

He takes a few running steps and jumps, beating his wings against the air, and suddenly he isn’t earthbound any longer. Castiel has almost forgotten what it’s like to feel the wind in his hair, the sun brighter and closer than it could ever be with both feet planted on the earth. The exhaustion within him seems to melt away under its warm light. He flies higher, level with the treetops in moments. 

For the first time since the start of the journey, maybe even since he has come to the mortal world, Castiel feels true happiness. He does a loop in the air, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Anytime now, Cas,” Sam calls, but Castiel can hear the smile in his voice. He takes another moment to hover, wings beating rhythmically. He’s enjoying the sensation of weightlessness, of freedom that only accompanies flight. Nothing in the world is better than th-

A chill shoots through his body, starting from his center and travelling outward. Castiel gasps, faltering for a moment in the air. The feeling persists, seizing him like a cold fist and gripping him tightly. Something is wrong. Castiel has felt this sensation before, but not for a very long time. Not since the war.

He scans the horizon. “Cas, is everything okay up there?” Jo’s voice is tinged with worry, but Castiel ignores her. It only takes him a moment to spot the smoke, billowing from a spot about half a mile away. 

“There!” He points toward the smoke, catching the attention of the people gathered below. “Something is wrong. Someone needs our help!” 

Castiel heads across the river as quickly as he can, landing lightly on the opposite bank. It takes him a moment to undo the knot tethering the boat to the shore, but he manages to take flight once more, pulling the boat behind him.

They’re too slow, too slow. Castiel can hear faint screams on the wind, cries for help. He urges the horses across the river, leaving his companions to pile into the rowboat. It’s a struggle against the strong current, but they manage to reach the other side after a few minutes. 

Dean is the first one off the boat. He doesn’t hesitate to leap onto his horse, and Castiel watches as he races toward the fire. Castiel is close behind him, mounting quickly, his horse’s hooves pounding against the earth. It would have been faster to fly, of course, but at this point even traversing a half mile by air would be exhausting. The draining effect the spindle has on him, coupled with the fact that his magyk is already lesser in the mortal realm have made Castiel is weaker than he’s ever been.

He still has to try.

The cries get clearer as they get closer, until finally they reach a small farm. Part of the field is burning, flames rapidly consuming the crop of wheat. Castiel can see the butchered corpses of cows and sheep scattered across the pasture. The smell of blood makes his horse nervous, but he urges it on, following Dean toward the barn. 

A small group of goblins is pounding on the barn’s door. The twisted body of a blonde young man lies prone at their feet, blood slowly pooling underneath him. He still has a pitchfork clutched tightly in his hand. He must have been killed trying to fight off the goblins, but going by the cries for help coming from the barn, it sounds like the rest of the family has holed up inside. 

Dean rides toward them, with Castiel close behind. “Halt, in the name of the king!” Dean shouts. The group turns, and Castiel is surprised to see how well armed and armored they are. He sees no makeshift weapons, but heavy maces and shining short swords. He had thought the goblin tribes of the north were too weak and unorganized to arm themselves this well. Their ugly faces break into sneers and leering grins.

“Get lost, knighty.” One of the goblins steps forward, spitting at his feet. It’s slightly taller than the others, and is wearing a ridiculously lopsided crown on its head. “You don’t wanna mess with my boys, no you don’t.” 

Dean just snorts, reigning in his horse. They stop about twenty feet from the group. “Whatever. Beat it, and count yourselves lucky that you’re not dead yet.”

“Yeah?” The tall goblin sounds almost amused. “You gonna take us yourself, pretty boy? You and the faerie?” Castiel doesn’t know why, but something feels off about this. The goblin is too unconcerned. Even outnumbered, Castiel is sure he could handle this group by himself.

“They’re not alone.” Sam approaches calmly, flanked on either side by Jo and Charlie. All three have their swords in hand. The goblins draw their weapons, inching closer to one another. Still, the leader continues to grin.

“And who da hell are you?”

Sam straightens in his saddle. “Prince Sam Winchester, first of his name, and second in line to the throne of Eridor. And that’s my brother. You don’t want to make him angry, so you’d better do what the nice man says. Or we may just have to use these.” Sam swings his longsword experimentally, letting it glint in the sunlight.

“The Winchester princes?” The goblin looks surprised, and he glances back at his group. “Ya hear that, boys? This may just be our lucky day.” His face twists into a sneer, making him even uglier than before, if that is even possible. “The boss will pay well for you two. Kill the faerie and the girls, but take the brothers alive.”

Castiel draws his sword, charging toward the goblins. 

Everything is mayhem within a matter of seconds. Castiel tramples a goblin underhoof, banging another’s helm with his sword as he rides past. A few swarm toward him. He blocks the first sword thrust, kicking out and sending the creature to the ground. Another comes at him, swinging its mace in a downward arc toward his head. He jerks out of the way, smoothly slashing his sword toward it. He means to get the throat, but the goblin brings its hands up just in time. He feels his blade bite into flesh, and the goblin screams. 

He silences it with a thrust. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Dean fighting alongside him, fending off the leader of the group. He turns to help, but another one of the creatures comes running at him with a war cry. “We don’t have time for this,” Castiel mutters, thinking of the family trapped and afraid inside the barn. 

He neatly blocks the goblin’s clumsy swing at his chest, sending the point of his sword through its eye. The creature’s momentum finishes the job, impaling it neatly. It jerks a few times before collapsing to the ground. Castiel tries to turn his horse, but suddenly a crossbow bolt buries itself into its foreleg with a sickening thunk. His horse rears, screaming in pain. Castiel is unprepared, losing his seat and falling to the ground. He feels a sharp pain shoot through one wing, and for a moment the breath is knocked out of him.

Castiel watches as a goblin looms over him. Blood oozes from a cut on one cheek, but it doesn’t seem to notice. It raises a mace over its head, swinging it down toward Castiel’s face with all its might. Castiel rolls onto his stomach, feeling the impact of the mace hit the ground right next to his ear. He tries to stand, but something plants itself hard into his back and knocks him down again. His injured wing is in agony. He still can’t inhale, the want for oxygen making itself known in his brain. He lashes out blindly with a foot, but the creature has him pinned down.

It grabs Castiel by the hair, and he feels the cool kiss of a dagger at his throat. “Any last words, twinkle toes?” The goblin’s rancid breath almost makes Castiel gag. He can’t believe how quickly he has been incapacitated. He must be more out of practice than he had thought. Castiel gasps for breath, bringing his head back into the creature’s face. He hears the crunch of bone breaking, and it screams, releasing his hair.

Castiel rolls onto his back just in time to see the goblin stick out its sharp tongue, longer and longer until he realizes that it isn’t a tongue at all. It’s a sword, slick with blood and shining in the sunlight. Dean pulls it free with a yank. The goblin collapses to the ground. 

“Stand up,” Dean barks. “There are still a few more.” To Castiel’s surprise, he dismounts as well, standing by his side.

“Thank y-,” he starts to say, but Dean cuts him off.

“On your left!”

How many of these things are still alive? Castiel turns just in time to catch a hard swing on the blade of his sword. The force is jarring, and he feels it all the way up his arm. He gracefully parries another swing, catching the goblin in the side. It hisses at him, and spittle lands on his cheek. It’s already bleeding heavily from a wound to its stomach, a large red stain spreading slowly over its tunic. Castiel is surprised that it hasn’t collapsed yet, before realizing that this is the leader of the little group.

Dean curses. “I thought I finished you off,” he says. He attacks the creature alongside Castiel. Even with both of them attacking, it’s surprisingly quick, blocking or dodging most of the sword thrusts. Castiel has been training for years, and even he has to admit that the goblin is a very good swordsman. 

Even so, it can’t hold both of them off for long. It suddenly loses its footing on a patch of gravel, falling to the earth with a thump. Castiel has the point of his sword resting on its neck in a flash. This may be a good chance to get a bit of information.

“Why have you broken the treaty?” Castiel asks. 

“What the hell are you doing, Cas?” Dean demands. “Kill it already!” He ignores him, pressing his sword a fraction harder into the goblin’s neck. It spits, blood intermingling with saliva, but remains silent.

“You know your kind is supposed to stay north of the border. You’ve upheld the treaty for years. Why break it now?”

“Ya think you’re so smart, don’tcha. Well, let me tell you something.” The goblin laughs weakly, blood gurgling in the back of its throat. “Soon, your little border ain’t gonna mean a thing. My master will make sure o’ that.” 

Castiel thrusts downward, finishing it off. “Jesus, Cas-,” Dean exclaims, but he can’t continue as he turns to parry the stroke of another goblin.  
A bolt whizzes narrowly past Castiel’s head, reminding him that the battle isn’t over yet. He turns, trying to pinpoint where it had come from. Most of the goblins are dead, with the others finishing the last of them off some distance away. A large haystack stands beside the barn in the direction the bolt had been fired from. Castiel watches it. Sure enough, a gnarled, green head pokes out from behind it. The goblin aims its crossbow at the group still fighting, and releases the shot before Castiel can do anything. He hears a cry of pain, and suddenly Charlie drops to the ground. 

“No!”

Anger pulses through him. Castiel runs toward the haystack, spinning to the side as another bolt comes whizzing past. He doesn’t think to pull out his bow, to safely kill it from a distance. He reaches the little goblin, who is frantically trying to load another bolt. He kicks the crossbow out of its hands, and it drops to its knees.

“Mercy, mercy!” It screams. Castiel’s sword stops inches from its chest. This thing doesn’t deserve his mercy, yet the cries give him pause. When had he become so weak?

“I’ll tell ya anything ya want, please, let me live!” It is begging now, groveling at his feet. Castiel watches the creature for a moment, weighing his options. It may have useful information, but even unarmed, this thing could be dangerous to the others. It’s already shot Charlie. The best option is to kill it now. Castiel tenses, about to deliver the finishing blow when someone screams.

“Shit, above us!” 

He turns just in time to see a black shape diving toward them, bony wings tucked behind its back and razor-sharp talons extended. Its screech is unearthly, sending an involuntary jolt of terror through Castiel. He throws himself to the ground just as it passes overhead with a whoosh, talons swiping only inches from him.

“A nightflyer!” Castiel yells, scrambling rather ungracefully back to his feet. The same cold feeling he had felt by the river returns in full force. He should have known, should have realized that it would be here, but he had thought they would be safe. The northern border of Eridor is still a half day’s journey away, and the evil creatures aren’t supposed to be within a hundred miles of it, according to the treaty. 

The creature is circling again, preparing for another dive. Castiel’s heart plunges into his stomach when it is joined by another.

“Shit, there are two!” Dean yells. 

“This is bad, this is so bad.” Jo is saying. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

“Stay calm, everyone.” Castiel had dealt with nightflyers many times throughout his life, but none of the experiences had been pleasant. Not a lot of creatures are as powerful as Seelie, of course, but nightflyers come close. Two at the same time are bad news indeed. “They can’t change directions quickly during a dive. Wait until the last moment, then roll out of the way.”

The creatures are gearing up for another dive, circling higher and higher until they’ve almost reached the clouds.

“Don’t bother aiming for the limbs,” Castiel continues. “Everything regenerates, and quickly too. You’ve got to kill them with a blow to the head. If you don’t kill them on the first try, they’ll keep coming. Watch the tee-,”

He is cut off by a white hot pain in one leg. He can’t muffle the cry that bursts from him, and suddenly someone is shouting his name. Castiel looks down, sees a dagger sticking out of his thigh. The small goblin is scrambling away. He lets it go. He has bigger problems at the moment. Both nightflyers are diving toward them now, and Castiel only has one leg. He tries to shift his weight to both, but that results in pain so intense that spots swim before his eyes. He grasps the dagger and yanks it out in a quick motion, causing him to gasp.

“Cas, look out!” 

Too late. He tries to dodge, but something rips into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Castiel feels a warm wetness seeping into his leather jerkin. He rolls onto his back. The nightflyer rises toward the clouds, out of reach and gearing up for another dive. Someone is shouting.

Castiel turns his head toward the commotion. Sam and Jess are occupied with one of the creatures, desperately trying to kill it while avoiding its claws and teeth. Charlie lies unconscious on the ground, blood slowly leaking from the bolt sticking out of her shoulder. No… not Charlie… 

He has to bind the wound before she bleeds out. Castiel struggles to stand, but incapacitating pain cripples him when he tries to use his shredded back muscles. He falls back onto his tattered wings, gasping for air. He can only watch, a helpless observer.

Jo screams as a talon catches her in the thigh. She lashes out blindly with her sword, eyes screwed shut in pain. Castiel watches as the nightflyer’s tail whips around and knocks her to the ground, as Sam stabs in in the stomach, as it screeches and begins to heal itself. That idiot. I told him to aim for the head. 

Where the hell is Dean?

Castiel looks back toward the sky. The second creature is hurtling back toward him. His hand fumbles for his sword, which has landed out of reach a few feet away. There’s no way he’ll be able to reach it in time. Castiel scrabbles at his belt until he finds his dagger, for all the good that will do him. It’s better than nothing. 

Castiel has no delusions that he will survive this fight. He can only hope that he will be the only casualty. He braces himself.

“Cas, no!” Dean reaches him just before the creature does, bringing his longsword up with tremendous force. Its head goes flying in a spray of blood while its body slams into the ground right beside Castiel. The corpse only remains solid for a few moments before it starts to crumble into grey dust, carried away by the breeze.

Dean drops to his knees beside him. “Jesus Christ, are you okay? Of course you’re not, that fucking goblin stabbed you! I’m gonna kill that little fucker with my bare hands, what the hell were you thinking? Fucking faerie, you’re such an idiot. Cas, you almost died, aren’t faeries supposed to be a little fucking tougher than that?”

“I’m fine,” he coughs, wincing. “Help the others. Charlie…”

“Charlie? What happened to-” Dean stands, catching sight of the prone figure just as Jo tackles the nightflyer, wrestling its talons to the ground. Sam jumps at the slight opening in its defenses. He stabs the thrashing creature through the eye, and within moments it has crumbled into dust. 

“She was shot. Left shoulder, I th-,” a fit of coughs overtakes him. His ribcage protests loudly. Castiel raises a hand to his mouth, and it comes away bloody. 

“Shit, Cas.” Dean drops to his knees again. “Sam and Jo got it. You’re in worse shape.”

“I said I’ll be fine, Dean. Please be quiet.” Castiel closes his eyes, searching for a part of his magyk buried deep inside him. It takes immense focus and concentration to achieve, but if pressed, most faeries have the ability to repair any injuries they’ve sustained. Castiel delves deep inside himself, coming to the core of his magyk. The threads interweave themselves densely here, and it is going to take focus to find the right one.

“Open your eyes! Don’t die on me, faerie, we fucking need you!” Dean’s shouts are slightly panicked. Castiel suddenly feels a sharp slap on one cheek. His concentration lapses, and the thread of magyk he had almost managed to grasp slips away from him.

“Dean! Calm yourself.” Castiel’s eyes fly open. Pain is coursing through him, radiating from his shredded back and wings. He can feel himself growing weaker. He needs to heal, and quickly. “I’m trying to repair the damage done to my body. If I could just get a moment of silence, please.”

“Oh.” He lapses into silence. For about three seconds. “I didn’t know that was a thing you guys could do.”

“Well now you do.” Castiel inhales deeply, trying to pull calm and serenity into his body. “Now shut up.”

It takes Castiel a few minutes, but he manages to weave together the worst of his injuries. The main problems are the wings. They have been shredded to bits by the nightflyer’s talons, and he has to painstakingly repair them piece by piece. Next comes his back. Castiel inhales and exhales, letting the magyk guide his thoughts as he knits muscle and tendons back together. His leg is last. This part is easy compared to his other injuries, only requiring a few seconds of his time.

He opens his eyes, letting them adjust for a moment. Birds have resumed their song in neighboring trees, and he can hear crickets chirping in the grass. Underlying this peaceful illusion, however, is the smell of smoke and death. Castiel sits up, looking toward the field. The fire has almost burned itself out. Luckily the wind is blowing in the right direction. If it had been coming from the South, the surrounding forests may have caught fire and burned to the ground. The ground is littered with goblin corpses, and one human’s. The farmer.

“Hey Castiel, you okay?” Sam is shouting at him from a dozen yards away. Charlie is awake, having been bandaged and propped up against a tree. Her shirt is soaked in blood. She must have lost quite a bit, but she smiles weakly at him. Dean helps her drink from a water skin, murmuring quietly, while Jo goes around gathering bolts from the bodies. Smart- they may come in handy.

“Fine, now. Have you checked on the family?” 

“Shit. I totally forgot about them.” 

They all look at each other, then hurry toward the barn, leaving Charlie to rest. The farm has gone eerily silent, whimpers and screams replaced by the chirping of crickets. 

Dean reaches it first. He knocks loudly. “Anyone in there? Those things are gone, you’re safe now.” He waits for a moment, but only silence answers him. “Me and my friends are coming in there. We aren’t going to hurt you.” Dean tugs on the handle, trying to open it, but it won’t budge. Someone has jammed the door shut. He yanks harder, putting all his strength into opening the door. It still doesn’t move.

“No dice,” Dean says, looking back at them. “A little help here?”

“Look, we’re trying to help you, okay?” Jo shouts at the mute barn. “Just open the door and let us inside!” After a few moments, she scowls. “Maybe we should just go,” she mutters. “We saved their ungrateful asses already, what else can we do?”

“We have to make sure they’re okay, Jo.” Sam sounds concerned, his brow furrowed as he stares at the barn. “These people are our responsibility.”

A quavering little voice suddenly drifts through the barn doors. “Is papa okay? Did he chase the monsters away?” 

There is a moment of silence. “Shit,” Dean whispers, looking at the body of the young man, lying in a pool of blood. Nobody knows what to say. They all stare at the body for a few moments before looking at each other. After a short silence, Castiel approaches the doors. He crouches down beside them, so he is at eye level with what he imagines to be a young child on the other side of the wood.

“Your papa was very brave,” he says gently. “Even though he was only one facing many, he fought fearlessly and chased all the monsters away. But there was one who was very big and very dangerous, and at the very last moment it killed your papa.” Castiel hears a gasp from the inside of the barn, and what sounds like another child beginning to cry. To experience loss at such a young age... Castiel has lost many loved ones throughout his life, but the experience had never gotten easier.

“He was strong until the end,” he continues to lie. “And he loved you very, very much. Before he died, he told me you were very brave, just like him. Is that true?”

A tearful whimper answers him through the doors. He takes it as a yes. Castiel shifts position, fluttering his wings slightly to stay balanced. “Well, if you’re brave like he said you were, you need to open this door. My friends and I are going to take care of you, make sure you haven’t been hurt. Is that alright?”

All he hears for a few moments are shaky breaths coming through the door. Castiel stands, turning back toward the group. Jo’s eyes are watery, and she blinks heavily to clear them. Dean stares intensely at the ground, his face completely blank.

Castiel is about to give up hope when the sound of a bolt being undone reaches his ears. The door creaks open, and two small children, one boy and one girl, peer up at him with tearful expressions. He takes their hands and leads them over to the group, making sure to carefully keep their gazes from the corpse of their father. 

The boy, seemingly the younger of the two, stares up at him with wide eyes. The grubby fingers of one hand reach upward and brush a midnight-blue wing, which has been tucked down against his back. They gently skim along it, the boy marveling at the smoothness and color. Castiel looks up and catches Dean watching the hand as it traces curves and veins in the gossamer wing.

Their eyes meet. Dean holds the gaze for a moment, searching, before looking away. Castiel still senses animosity burning underneath Dean’s gaze, even after what they’ve been through together. He pushes the hurt aside, focusing on the children. After all, what had he expected?

“Is there anyone else on this farm who could take care of you?” Jo asks the young girl. Aside from dirt and tear tracks streaking their faces, the two children seem to be fine. Jo has wet a rag and is gently cleaning the girl’s face. “A mother, or grandparents maybe?”

“He locked father in the cellar,” she answers after a moment. “Papa did. I… I don’t know why.” She begins to cry again, hiccupping sobs that set off the little boy as well. Sam gathers him into a comforting hug, murmuring softly.

Jo looks confused. “But sweetie,” she replies as kindly as she is able. “Your father is dead. I’m sorry, but they got him.”

“N-no,” the girl says. “Papa stayed outside to chase the monsters away. Father is in the cellar.”

“Oh.” Jo pauses for a moment, then continues to clean the girl’s face, wiping away new tears. “Okay. My friends will go get him for you, alright? Where is the cellar?”

The girl points to a farmhouse about a quarter-mile east from where they are standing. Her stubby finger is shaking. “I’ll get him,” Castiel says. 

Dean straightens, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “I’m coming too,” he says. “We don’t know if the area is completely clear. Just keep an eye out, and don’t make me save you. Again.” 

Castiel doesn’t rise to the bait, though he can’t quite stop himself from glaring at the prince’s back as they walk toward the little house. Dean’s boots crunch on sticks and twigs as Castiel walks feather-light though the grass.

After a few minutes, they are close enough to make out a few details. The farmhouse is a weathered little one-story building, the wooden slats on the outside having turned grey in the sun. It’s modest but well kept. Even though the house seems old, nothing is broken or run down. Castiel sees that the steps have been replaced and the doors have been newly painted. A little garden sits along one side of the house, while on the other side a pair of cellar doors have been jammed shut with a crowbar.

They do a quick scan of the area, but the coast seems clear. For some reason, the whole band of goblins seemed to only have been concerned with the children. Goblins truly are disgusting creatures. Castiel follows as Dean jogs to the pair of old cellar doors. 

“Anyone in there?” he calls, cupping his hands to his mouth.

“Hello? Hello?” The voice is panicked, and suddenly someone is banging on the other side of the doors. “Oh thank god, can you hear me? Where are my children?”

“They are safe,” Castiel answers calmly. He examines the doors. A crowbar has been wedged into the handles of the doors, the ends bent to hold it in place. He sighs and firmly grasps the metal bar, yanking upward. For a moment it holds, then the whole door gives with a loud crack.

“Um…” Dean stares at the fractured wooden door that Castiel has pulled from its hinges.

“My apologies,” he responds, staring at the door as well. He hadn’t meant to be so forceful, but at least he had gotten the job done. Suddenly, the father climbs out of the cellar. He is a tall, pale man with bright eyes, long limbs, and a manic expression.

“Tell me that Hamish and Sarah are all right,” he gasps, turning his head in all directions. “Where are they? God, where is John?”

“Dude, your kids are fine,” Dean says. He catches the man’s arm, trying to calm him. “We killed those goddamn goblins before they ever touched ‘em. But- well, um, John, was it? He…”

The man’s manic grey eyes lock with Dean’s, and he doesn’t need to finish. For a few moments the only sounds are the man’s shaky inhales and exhales. He doesn’t break eye contact with Dean, just searches his face until he seems to find what he is looking for. “Oh god,” he whispers.

To Castiel’s surprise, he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t beg the gods to bring his husband back. He simply takes a breath and asks to see the body.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dean asks gently, releasing the man’s arm slowly.

“I… no, yes, I need to…”

“We could always have my friends bury him. You know, clean him up before-”

“Let him, Dean.” 

They lock eyes, but Castiel isn’t about to fold under the heavy green weight of Dean’s stare. It’s difficult to explain, but he understands why the farmer needs to see his husband’s body. When someone has died, it’s difficult to believe that it’s actually happened until you’ve seen it for yourself. Closure is an important part of the healing process- without it, it’s difficult to accept the fact your loved one is gone forever. Dean needs to understand that.

After a moment, Dean nods. They lead the man toward the rest of their friends. The farmer’s face is completely blank, but Castiel notes tiny fractures in his mask. Fingers spasmodically clenching and unclenching with anxiety. Eyelids fluttering shut momentarily as he takes a deep breath, ignoring all the carnage around him as he walks straight to the prone body. The slight flinch as he finally takes it all in. Everything is so reminiscent of Castiel’s reaction to death during the war that he finds himself grinding his teeth to keep the memories at bay. His hand finds the pendant hanging around his neck, turning it over in his fingers.

The man is standing stock still, just staring at the body. “I’m so sorry this happened,” Sam says, swallowing audibly.

Charlie and the children are sitting together, leaning against a tree trunk. The young boy tries to go to his father, but Charlie gently grabs his hands and pulls him back. “He needs to be alone right now, just for a moment,” she murmurs.

“Idiot,” the man whispers, seemingly to himself. He suddenly drops to his knees. “Why did you do that? You said you’d be right back. You said you’d have them with you and you’d be right back…” He falls back into silence, staring at the body again. Tears fall to the ground like raindrops, plip plip plip onto the dirt. 

They stand together around the fallen man, letting their silence speak for them.

After a few minutes, Dean raises his head toward the sky and sighs. “Sammy, we need to keep moving. We’ve lost half a day already, and if we ain’t at the border by nightfall I’m afraid we won’t make the deadline.”

“You have no idea how far we still need to go, Dean. We can spare a few hours helping these people.” Sam makes to walk toward the body, but suddenly the farmer speaks. 

“No.” He stands slowly, pulling himself off the ground as if he has aged twenty years in the span of a few minutes. “Leave. Hamish, Mary, go to the house please.”

The children look questioningly at their father, who motions for them to go. They break away from Charlie and head toward the house in a dead run, looking around fearfully as if they expect more creatures to pop up from the long grass.

“We’re sorry to leave you like this, but we really must go,” Castiel apologizes. “I sincerely hope that you and your children stay in good health.”

Castiel expects gratitude. What he doesn’t expect is the farmer flying at him with fist extended and fury in his eyes. Castiel barely manages to dodge. He regains his balance and pivots deftly, grabbing the man and twisting his arm behind his back. There are cries from his companions, and he hears the sound of steel being unsheathed.

He looks around. Everyone has drawn their sword, ready to fight. Even Charlie is standing in a guard, albeit swaying a bit from blood loss. “It’s fine,” he says, and it is. The farmer has already stopped struggling, is just staring at a fixed point on the ground in front of him. It’s clear that this man isn’t a fighter.

“It’s not fine, Cas!” Jo is outraged, gesturing wildly as she speaks. Sam steps a healthy distance away from her swinging sword. “We fought off those goblins, didn’t we? We fought off two fucking nightflyers, most of us have injuries, and this is how he repays us? By attacking you? What the hell?”

“It’s his fault.” The farmer’s deep voice is barely audible. 

“Excuse me?” Jo is practically steaming. “He saved your ass!”

“Faeries haven’t done anything for me. For any of us. Who do you think he’s allied with? Us humans? Or those magyk things that attacked us today?” His voice still hasn’t risen above a whisper, but every word stings just the same.

“But that’s not fair!” Dean yells. “He helped you today, you son of a bitch.”

Castiel looks at him in surprise, but Dean doesn’t seem to be aware of the irony of his statement. “Yes, Dean,” he says quietly. “It is quite unfair, isn’t it?”

Their eyes meet again as Castiel releases the farmer. He sits on the ground with a thump, staring once again at the body of his husband. “Just go,” the man mutters. “Just go.” Expressions flicker across Dean’s features, almost as quickly as Castiel can identify them. Confusion shock anger doubt as he suddenly turns and heads back toward the horses. 

The others slowly follow, all except for Castiel. He watches the shuddering rise and fall of the man’s shoulders for a minute or two, letting his grief fill the space around them. “I meant what I said,” Castiel tells him quietly. “I wish you all the best.” 

When there is no response, he turns to follow the others.

They’re all waiting in the main road. Charlie and Jo are mounted and ready to leave, but Sam and Dean are holding the reins of their horses. Their backs are turned to Castiel, heads bent together as they discuss something heatedly. The girls pretend not to be listening, but their attentive silence and tilted heads say otherwise. Castiel makes out a few words as he gets closer.

“… sure doesn’t sound like it to me, Dean. You were practically puking, you were so panicked.”

“Look, Sammy. We need him, okay? If that asshole dies-,”

“He has a name.” Sam’s voice is heated.

“Fine. If Castiel dies, how the hell are we gonna find Lisa? Like I said, we need him with us or we ain’t going anywhere. That’s the only reason he’s here.”

Castiel cuts in, making the brothers jump. “It certainly is lucky I survived, then.” His voice is cold enough to freeze them both in their tracks. He glares daggers at Dean, who at least has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. 

After an awkward silence where the only sound that can be heard is Charlie’s uncomfortable coughing, he turns away. If Dean only wants to keep Castiel alive to use him, that’s fine. Never mind that Dean’s biting words cut into him, just a bit. After all this is over, Castiel mentally wishes him a pleasant stay in the deepest level of hell. 

He goes to mount his horse before stopping himself. He suddenly turns, gesturing to Charlie. “Come here,” he says, mentally kicking himself for not doing this sooner. “There’s no need for you to ride injured.”

She looks at him dubiously, raising her eyebrows. “I hate to disappoint you Cas, but there’s no way I’ll be able to keep pace with the horses for eight hours straight. Even I’m not that great, and let’s face it- I’m a ten.”

Jo snorts, but Castiel’s eyebrows are furrowed. “I do not understand.”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Jo says helpfully. 

Castiel shrugs slightly, turning back to Charlie. “In any case, that is not what I meant. I should have healed you sooner, but we’ve been a bit busy.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “Wait- you have healing powers? I mean, I saw you heal yourself earlier, but I didn’t know you could do me too!” She dismounts quickly, letting him place a hand over the bandage on her shoulder.

“This may feel a bit strange,” he warns as he closes his eyes. Once again, Castiel searches himself until he finds the interwoven threads of magyk that comprise his core. It’s a matter of seconds before he finds the right one, letting it flow down his arm and out of his fingertips. 

This is the tricky part. Castiel has healed countless wounds on his body, so by now its planes and workings are familiar to him. Charlie is new, however, and he has to be careful to put everything back together the way it had started. He carefully feels around the wound with his magyk, pulling muscle back together and weaving tendons into their places. The process is slower than usual, so by the time he takes his hand off of Charlie five minutes have gone by. 

She unwraps the bandages, her hesitation melting into delight as she sees unblemished skin through the bloodstained hole in her jerkin. “Wow, amazing. Thanks, Cas!” She pats his cheek a few times, making Castiel feel remarkably like a dog being rewarded for doing a trick. 

“Er… it was no trouble,” he lies, actually feeling remarkably weak after putting such a strain on his magyk today. He suddenly feels the full extent of his fatigue, and even though it is only midday he is tired enough for a full night’s sleep. He fights off the feeling, doing his best to look normal as he mounts his horse.

Of course, his companion sees through him right away.

“Cas, you okay?” Charlie asks. She furrows her eyebrows. “You look pale. Paler than usual, anyway.”

“Fine. Just tired. Strained my magyk.” Suddenly, everything hits him at once. His vision tunnels, and he sways in his saddle. 

“Cas!”

She moves toward him quickly, but he waves her off. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

She sighs. “You didn’t have to do that. I mean, thanks, but I would have been fine until you rested a bit more.”

Castiel doesn’t have the strength to argue, but Dean cuts in for him. “He did the right thing. We’re crossing the border soon, so who knows when we’ll have to fight again? We couldn’t have kept going with you injured, Charlie.” 

“Still…” she shoots a look at Castiel. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” He straightens a bit in his saddle, doing his best to look alert even though every inch of him is exhausted. There is no need to pile another worry onto his companions. They already have enough to be concerned about. Speaking of…

“We’d best be going,” Castiel says. He turns to look back at the farm. The fire in the field has almost burned itself out, and the place almost looks peaceful. From a distance, it shows no outward signs of recent chaos. It’s almost idyllic. 

“The trail has been leading us toward the Badlands so far,” Sam says. “I think it’s safe to assume it will continue like that for a while. You get your rest, Cas, and we won’t get the spindle out again until tomorrow.” 

Castiel is grateful. He nods his head in thanks, and the five head north.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (AN) I'm so sorry.

Dean is tired and confused, and he honestly just wants this whole mess over with. He glances for the hundredth time at Castiel, who is riding a short distance in front of him. The fading sunlight catches in his messy black hair, making him look every inch the magical creature that he’s supposed to be. Even though the faerie is slumped in his saddle, fingers loose around the reins as he struggles not to doze off, he still looks almost enchanted. Dark lashes sweep over high, pale cheekbones as Castiel blinks the sleep from his eyes. His wings, spread wide to catch the breeze, let the sunlight filter through their translucent blue. Dean watches them flutter, admiring them despite himself. Suddenly he catches himself, realizing he’s been staring for just a moment too long. 

He turns his eyes back to the road. Dean is exhausted too, but he’s sure that he looks quite a bit worse. Still, he already knows that sleep won’t come easily tonight. There are too many thoughts buzzing in his head, beating themselves against the inside of his skull and demanding his attention.

Castiel’s words from today keep repeating themselves in his head. ‘Its quite unfair, isn’t it?’ Unfair. That had caught him off guard. That farmer was acting like an asshole, and yet… wasn’t his logic exactly the same as Dean’s would have been, had their places been reversed? That’s what really bothers him. Threads of self-doubt have begun to worm their way into his brain, doubts about faeries, about magyk, but mostly about Cas…

He can’t shake the feeling that he’s disappointed the man. The faerie. He shouldn’t care. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared about the opinion of any faerie. But, somehow, Castiel has worked himself under his skin, until his every thought about faeries is answered with one questions: “What would Cas think?”

He finds that his eyes have drifted to the oblivious faerie once again, and he yanks his gaze away. This doesn’t make any sense. He’s only known Cas for a week, has barely spoken to him since that night. He shouldn’t care about his opinion. And yet…. He regrets every word of what he had said earlier, when he had been talking to Sam about the faerie.

He can’t stop thinking of the moment when he had turned, had seen that Castiel had heard every single word that he had said. That look of hurt on his face, visible for a split second right before his shields had come up. That image had burned itself into Dean’s lids. He closes his eyes, seeing it clearly once again. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Cas. Dean thought he had been telling the truth at the time, that he only wanted Castiel around because they needed him. Now he isn’t so sure. Maybe he had only been trying to convince himself.

This isn’t a feeling he likes. Guilt and doubt and confusion and a hint of something else, something that makes his stomach surge with heat when he thinks of the way that those wings would look sprawled out on his bed (he pushes the thought to the back of his mind, what the fuck), all bubbling together into a soupy mess until he can’t tell one from another. He’s too tired to deal with this, resolving to ignore it until he’s gotten some sleep.

“Hey Sammy, are we almost there?” he calls out. Sam is riding point, and he twists in his saddle to face Dean. 

“Take a look for yourself.” He gestures ahead of them, and Dean looks beyond Sam. Just ahead is the small village they had been heading for. It’s a good thing, too, because there is barely any daylight left. Traveling while it’s dark is a bad idea this close to the Badlands. 

As they get closer, Dean realizes that the place is really a single long street, with shops and homes sitting along both sides. A few people mill about, but it seems to be largely empty. A few sentries stand guard at the edges of the town. Their weapons are close at hand. They eye the small party as they pass through, but don’t make a move to stop them. 

A large, wooden inn rises into the sky at the end of the street, the most inviting thing Dean has seen all day. The group heads straight for it, all of them eagerly anticipating a hot meal and a soft bed. This town the last one they’ll encounter. It sits right on the border between Eridor and the Badlands. Dean pushes his troubles to the back of his mind, resolving to ignore them for the time being. After all, that’s what he does best. He’ll deal with everything later.

“You hungry?” Jo asks him. She has been riding at the rear of the group, quietly conversing with Charlie, but at the sight of the inn she rides up to join Dean. 

Dean’s stomach growls in response, and Jo grins. “Same. Now that I think about it, I don’t think we actually stopped to eat today.”

“Didn’t have time. That damn delay this morning set us back.”

“Hm. Anyway, I’m excited for something besides road rations. There’s only so much salted beef and stale bread you can stomach before you need some real food.”

Dean glances wryly at her. “Jo, we’ve only been on the road for three days. You realize we’ve got at least another few weeks of this, right? And this is the last town. After this, it’s back to the road shit.” His sigh is exaggerated, making Jo snort.

It only takes a short amount of time to reach the inn. Despite the small dimensions of the town, it’s a sizable building, reaching a few stories high and with stables out back. They toss the stableboy a few coppers and let him lead their horses away. (Dean gives him a little extra, along with instructions to give Impala an extra bag of oats. After all, she’s earned it.) 

It isn’t difficult to find a table. Dean has to let his eyes adjust after he steps into the dimly lit inn, but after a few moments he sees that it is fairly empty. A few soldiers wearing the royal crest sit at a corner table, boasting loudly and being generally noisy. Empty pewter mugs litter their table. It seems like they’ve already gotten started on the night. After everything that has happened, Dean longs to join them, to drink and to forget for a little while. But he can’t. He needs to stay sober, just in case.

The only other person in the tavern is a cloaked figure sitting at the bar. The dim light casts a shadow over their hooded face, obscuring it completely. They don’t seem to be eating or drinking. Instead, a slim, pale hand taps its fingers on the bar. It’s almost like they’re waiting for something.

Other than that, the tables are empty. Dean chooses one close to the door, and the rest of his companions follow him. The day’s sweat and grime has dried on his face, and he longs for a bath. He’s tempted to ask for one to be prepared, but he knows he’s too exhausted. By the time the water is heated and lugged up to his room, Dean hopes he will be asleep. 

A rather exasperated looking, middle aged woman approaches their table. She has an apron tied over her dress, and her hair has been pulled into a messy updo. The ladies back at court would be aghast, but Dean appreciates the simplicity that being away from court seems to allow people. “Welcome to Swan Inn.” She says. “Will you be folks be wanting drink, or food? My son caught a few fat ducks today, but I think we’ve got some lamb in the kitchens as well.”

“Why don’t you bring both out here? We’re all starving.” Dean grins his patented Winchester smile at the serving wench, the one that makes the ladies giggle and adjust their hair. He sees Sam roll his eyes in his peripheral vision, but he honestly doesn’t care. He’s starved, and he’d trade a smile any day for extra helpings on his plate.

“Great,” she says, blushing slightly and tucking a flyaway behind her ear. “I’ll have your ale and food right out.” She bustles away.

Dean catches Castiel’s eyes, which are ringed by dark circles that almost look like bruises. The faerie has a disapproving expression on his face, his eyebrows raised slightly as he takes in Dean’s flirtatious smile. Dean narrows his eyes, but Castiel’s gaze flicks away as he tries to hold it. He feels the smile drop off his face.

Whatever. He doesn’t need Cas’s approval. He doesn’t need anyone’s approval. He’s a fucking prince. He can do whatever the hell he wants to, especially when he’s only having a little fun. He’s hungry and tired and so fucking worried about Lisa that he can’t even bring himself to think about it, so doesn’t he deserve that at least? Dean stares down at the table, silently fuming. Suddenly he stands, his chair scraping against the wooden floorboards with a squeak. Screw being sober. “I’m going to get a drink. I need something stronger than ale.”

“Dean… that isn’t really a good idea,” Charlie cautions. She furrows her eyebrows, a worried expression on her face as she leans forward. “Aren’t we leaving first thing in the morning?”

“Who’s gonna stop me? You?” At the silence from his group, he nods. He catches Castiel’s gaze again, and this time he forces him to hold it. Dean tilts his chin up stubbornly, but the faerie says nothing. “That’s what I thought.” 

As he turns and heads toward the bar, he hears Sam’s voice. “Don’t worry, he’ll come around. He just has some stuff to work through.” Dean snorts when he’s out of their hearing. Yeah right. 

He leans against the bar, signaling the girl who stands behind it. “Whiskey. Neat.” She nods and ducks behind the counter. Dean sighs, letting his head drop. Who the hell is he kidding? Sam is right. He has a lot of stuff on his mind, and his little brother has always been able to see right through him. 

Suddenly a voice comes from his left, making him jump. “Bad day, Deano?” He had completely ignored the cloaked figure who has been sitting at the bar. Her voice is decidedly female, and strangely familiar. He turns to face her, still unable to make out her face under the deep shadow cast by her hood.

“Who are you?” He’s wary as he takes in the figure. Her figure is slight, but the way she carries herself suggests power and purpose. Her voice is honey-sweet, sending warning signals through his brain. He struggles to identify it. “And how the hell do you know my name?”

“You really don’t remember?” The woman sulks, her arms crossing underneath her cloak into a faux pout. “I’m hurt. Really, Winchester. Well… since you’re obviously straining that dense little brain of yours, I guess I can help you out.” 

She removes her hood, revealing a shark-toothed grin and eyes covered by a length of cloth. “Did‘ja miss me?”

His hand goes to his sword as he leaps to his feet. “Lilith.” He glances over at the rest of his companions, but only Castiel is looking his way. The rest are focused on their steaming plates of roast lamb that the serving girl had just brought to their table. “Get out of here.”

Lilith brings a hand up to her mouth, her eyes wide in mock surprise. Her voice is high and sarcastic. “Well, I never! How rude of you. Where ever are your princely manners?” She grins, reverting to her normal voice. “We’ve got some unfinished business, you and I.”

“What are you talking about? I agreed to your little deal, didn’t I?”

“Well that’s exactly it, handsome. You agreed, but we never exactly sealed the deal. You left before I could make it official.”

“You were the one that left. Said you had other business, more deals to make.”

“Huh.” She shrugs. “Details, I suppose. Anyway, that’s what I’m here for.”

“What makes you think I’m going to do it?” he asks, trying to sound confident. It’s difficult. There’s something about Lilith that is very unsettling. “I’ve already got what I want. Why would I give you any sort of power over me?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to kill little Cassie over there.” 

A jolt of fear runs through Dean’s veins. He leans in closer to her. “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t dare,” he murmurs. His voice is soft and dangerous. She only giggles.

“Course I would. Without him, you can’t find your precious princess, can you?” Dean pauses, then nods. To be honest, the thought of Lisa hadn’t even crossed his mind. He fears for Castiel himself. The realization is unexpected. He glances at the table again, only to find that the man in question is watching the whole exchange closely. He seems to be on the edge of standing, on his way toward him. Dean shakes his head minutely. ‘I got this,’ he mouths.

Castiel gives him a concerned look, sitting back down after a moment of hesitation.

Dean turns back to Lilith. “Alright. What do I need to do?”

She grins. “I knew you’d come around. It’s simple, really.” She pauses, flicking her eyebrows up and down at him. “All we gotta do is a little lip-lock.”

“What?” He recoils a bit. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m as serious as I ever was, pretty boy. After you pucker up, I’ll be on my merry way.” She grins flirtatiously, winking at him. “Unless you want me to stay, of course.”

Dean feels a shudder run through him. There’s no way in hell. “Just the kiss, thanks.” He doesn’t even want to do that much, but it’s too late to back out. Not if he wants to keep his quest from crashing and burning. Lilith’s slight body radiates power, and he knows that if it comes to a fight between them, she will win without question. No, it’s best to do what she wants. 

A few townspeople enter the inn. They come to a stop between Dean and the rest of his group, obscuring their line of sight. Lilith had timed their conversation perfectly. Now if any of his companions look his way, all they will be able to see are the asses of five or so men.

Lilith fans herself. “Oh, my heart is all aflutter. I always do enjoy kissing the princes. Your souls always taste so golden.” She grins, slowly removing the cloth from her eyes. It falls to the bar. Pupil-less, white orbs bore into him. “I anticipate turning yours… black.” As she says this, her eyes flicker black as pitch. She’s trying to unnerve Dean, and he has to say that she’s doing a great job. He grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he steadies himself. 

“Just do it,” he forces himself to say.

Lilith tastes like sulfur and evil. Dean feels magyk spark through their connection. The little spark travels quickly down his throat and to something deep inside him, tearing off a piece. The pain makes him gasp, but it quickly fades until he almost feels normal again.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, glaring daggers at Lilith. She grins, thumbing her lower lip.

“Just a little something to make sure we can find you when we need to. The hellhounds need a scent to follow, so we take a little piece of your soul when we first strike the deal. It’s standard procedure.” 

His mouth turns dry. Hellhounds? Soul? Had he just…?

Someone grabs his shoulder, yanking hard. Dean stumbles backward, catching himself with one hand on the bar. Castiel steps in front of him, wings spread wide as he wordlessly punches Lilith in the face. The force of the punch snaps her head back, and a loud crack is audible throughout the tavern. 

“Stay the fuck away from him,” Castiel growls down at her, and (despite himself, despite this whole situation) there’s something incredibly arousing about hearing him curse in that gravelly voice. His translucent wings tower over her, practically glowing with magyk. You could hardly tell that just minutes earlier, he had been swaying with exhaustion. “Hell-spawn like you don’t belong here.” 

“Cas, don’t! She’ll kill you!” Dean tries to pull him away, but Castiel pushes him back. 

“You underestimate me, Dean. Stay behind me.” 

She jumps to her feet as her head fixes itself with a snap. Blood is dripping from her nose, but she just grins widely. Some of the customers in the tavern are standing in surprise. With a swipe of her hand, everyone falls to the ground, unconscious. Everyone except for her, Castiel, and Dean.

“What a turn of events!” she exclaims, her face practically glowing with twisted delight. “The faerie cares! And so does the prince! Looks like Andais was right, after all. Or her curse was, anyway.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, even as something deep in his subconscious has a niggling suspicion... 

“You’ll figure it out eventually, I suppose. Maybe even before it’s too late.” She smiles. “But I doubt it.”

Castiel’s hand disappears under his cloak, emerging with a long silver blade. Lilith’s smile falters just a bit when she sees it. The faerie falls into a fighting stance, switching to an overhand grip on the blade. It looks like there’s going to be a fight after all. Great. Dean unsheathes his sword. It’s seen more practical use over the past few days than it has since he had first gotten it. He moves to stand even with Castiel, but something gives him pause. 

The faerie is glowing. A warm blue light seems to radiate from under his skin, turning Castiel’s whole body ethereal. Under a shock of black hair, bright blue eyes pin Lilith in place. Magyk crackles around him like pure energy. It flows down his arm and into the blade, making it glow along with him.

Dean takes a step back, despite himself. Lilith seems to have the same idea, backing up until she bumps into a table. A trace of fear is in her eyes, something that Dean has never seen before. Still, she does her best to sound confident. 

“You can’t keep that up for long, faerie,” she sneers, fumbling for something behind her back. “I know how exhausted you are.”

Castiel says nothing. He advances on Lilith and her eyes go wide. “Don’t come any closer!” she screeches. She pulls out a heavy dagger, throwing it at Castiel so fast that Dean almost isn’t able to register the movement. The faerie deflects it with ease. The dagger hits the ground with a muffled thump. She tries again, throwing her arm out with fingers spread wide. Castiel tenses, but he’s not her target.

Dean’s sword drops to the ground, clattering on the wooden floorboards as he claws at his neck. Something has a death grip on his throat. It is squeezing so hard that he can feel bruises forming. He struggles to inhale, scrabbling at the invisible hands that stop life-giving air from reaching his lungs.

He feels himself being suspended in the air, toes hanging barely an inch off the ground. Sheer panic is flooding him as he struggles, kicking and writhing.

“I said, don’t come any closer,” Lilith warns, her voice desperate. She squeezes her hand into a fist, and Dean’s scream is caught in his throat, his mouth open in a soundless cry of agony. 

Castiel’s face is as hard as stone. “You’ve made a mistake, demon.” 

Blue energy crackles around him, louder and louder until there is a blinding flash of light. Dean’s vision is spotty for a moment, but whether it’s from the light or lack of oxygen he can’t tell. He blinks hard, and when he opens his eyes the room has become a battlefield. 

The brightest light he has ever seen is radiating from Castiel, so bright that Dean has to squint to make out his figure. The faerie spins forward, bringing his blade around with a powerful arm but Lilith dodges him, and suddenly her hold on Dean is broken. He drops to the ground with a gasp, landing on all fours and greedily sucking in air.

There is a fight raging before him. Bright white light radiates out from Castiel as he twists and turns and leaps, almost dancing as he attacks the demon. Lilith is a dark spot in the center of it all. She desperately parries Castiel’s lightning fast attacks. She is slowly giving ground, ever so slowly letting herself be pushed backward. When Castiel brings his dagger straight down toward her head, she reaches up to grab it. Her heels slide along the floorboards as she is pushed back, blood running down her forearms as Castiel forces the blade closer and closer. 

There is a look on his face that Dean has never seen before. One of pure hatred, pure determination to wipe this creature off the face of the earth. Lilith sees it too, and she barely has time to flinch as Castiel suddenly releases his hold on the dagger.

Caught off guard, Lilith stumbles forward. Castiel’s palm catches her forehead as she staggers past. Suddenly there is screaming, screaming and more brilliant white light, but this time is emits from her eyes and mouth and cracks in her vessel. The faerie’s mouth twitches as he tenses his arm, letting her screams echo around the room.

Her smoking body drops to the floor.

The light quickly fades, and Castiel goes from looking godly to pathetically exhausted. He slowly bends over, scooping up the silver blade and tucking it into his jacket. 

He turns to Dean on now-unsteady legs, his voice hoarse as he speaks. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m…” he pauses to clear his throat, still awe-struck by the display of power in the room just moments before. “M’fine. Shit, Cas, that was-,”

Castiel’s eyes roll back into his head as he collapses to the floor.

-

Back again so soon, hm? Haven’t you had quite enough excitement for one day? Oh, this just won’t do, not at all, Cassie. You and your little… friends, have already killed two of my favorite pets today. Now you go killing off my most efficient employee. No, no, no. This won’t do at all.

-

It’s dark. It’s dark again, and Castiel can’t move. He can’t open his eyes, can’t call for help, and can’t even twitch a finger. Not a sound can be heard. He strains his ears, listening for something, anything, but silence is all that answers him. Except for the fact that he can still feel what is around him, he would think that he was dead, his conscious doomed to drifting through the void. This doesn’t seem to be the case. He is lying on a stone cold table. It leeches the warmth and life from him, chilling him to the bone. Everything about this is so alien, yet so familiar.

Someone whispers in his ear. A woman, speaking jibberish but her words sound like poison all the same. They echo in his brain, bouncing off the walls and destroying things as they go. 

‘Where am I?’ his mind cries out, and he would be gasping for breath if he could control his breathing. Oh god, is he breathing? Castiel feels panic welling up inside him and he needs to move, needs to escape but all he can do is lie motionless on a cold stone table. ‘Where am I? Dean?’

“Dean isn’t here,” the voice whispers in his ear, the one sound in a sea of silence and Castiel latches onto it. 

Where is he? Where the hell is he?

“He’s nowhere, faerie. You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming. How does it feel to be Princess Lisa?”

And suddenly, he recognizes this, all of it, because he’s dreamed of it before, except this time he is Lisa. 

Castiel struggles to move, telling himself this is only a dream as he tries to break free. He can’t. The voice just whisper-laughs, mocking him as he tries to escape. “You can’t leave this place. You’re mine, as long as I want you. I can have anyone I want. You, the princess, even the people you love.”

Castiel suddenly has a vision. Dean in a forest, following a glowing light as it leads him further and further into the woods. He desperately shouts Dean’s name, but the man can’t hear him. His eyes are glassy and glazed, his arm outstretched as he falls off the edge of the earth and into the abyss. NO!

And suddenly he’s back on the table, unable to move as the voice breathes against his ear. “Do you see what I mean?”

His mind feels crowded. There isn’t room in here for both him and the voice. Castiel struggles, shouting at it in his mind. Who are you? Why are you doing this? 

“It doesn’t matter who I am. After all, you never remember me when you wake up.”

A seed of dread has wormed its way into Castiel’s stomach, putting down roots and sprouting toward his throat. Leave me alone.

“No, I don’t think I will.” It pauses, seeming to come to a decision. “In fact, I’m going to do you a favor. I do want to see your little quest come to an early end, but won’t it be so thrilling to watch it go down in flames after you fail yourselves?”

What the hell does that mean? Castiel demands. He is still struggling against the invisible bonds that hold him motionless, but even knowing that this is only a dream doesn’t help him. 

“It means you and your little friends will fail to rescue the princess. And in the end? It won’t have anything to do with me. It will be because of you, Castiel Novak. And won’t that just be fun to watch?”

It can’t be true. The voice is lying, it doesn’t know what it’s talking about, how could it? I’ll do everything I can to save Lisa Braedon! He shouts, anger making his voice seem louder in the confines of his mind.

“It doesn’t matter. You just being near Dean Winchester is enough to end everything.” Castiel can almost hear the voice’s self-satisfied grin. It can’t be true. 

“But enough chit chat,” it continues. “You’re going to wake up feeling all better, Castiel, and you’re not going to remember a single thing about this. Now, isn’t that nice of me?”

He doesn’t have time to respond. His body is ripped from the table. In the few moments between consciousness and unconsciousness, he feels the memory of the voice floating away from him. He grasps for it, desperately trying to cement it from his mind, but it slips through his fingers like wisps of smoke.

The memory is gone when he opens his eyes.

-

The world slowly comes into focus around him. Castiel is staring up at leafy trees, the gaps between the branches showing a night sky studded with stars. A flickering orange light is coming from his left, making the shadows in the forest flicker between tree trunks like dancers. A voice suddenly breaks the silence. 

“Hey, he’s awake!” A face pops into view above Castiel. Jo is streaked with dirt and blood, but she is grinning all the same. Blonde hair falls into his face and tickles his nose. “Welcome back to the land of the living!”

Sam appears next, his face lined with concern. “How are you feeling?”

Castiel props himself up onto his elbows. Now that he is thinking about it, he feels fine. Better than fine. He feels stronger than he has in years, his magyk almost replenished to the level it had been when he lived in the Otherworld. How can this be possible? Summoning his magyk to the surface of himself, the way he had done as he fought the demon, was usually a last resort that resulted in weeks of recovery. 

“I feel… fine, actually. How long have I been unconscious?” Castiel asks.

“A few hours,” Sam replies bemusedly. “Dean got us out of there fast, once the townspeople started waking up. Didn’t want to have to explain the body. He strapped you to your horse and led it into the woods. We actually made camp about an hour ago, just a little ways off the road.”

Only a few hours? How is this possible? Something niggles in the back of his mind, maybe the ghost of a memory, but he can’t seem to get a firm hold on it. His brows furrow together. 

“It’s too bad,” Charlie chimes in, going to the fire and dishing something from a simmering pot into a small wooden bowl. “We didn’t even get to finish our food. We paid for that lamb, you know.” She brings the stew over to Castiel, setting it gently down on the ground next to him. 

“Voila,” she says, taking a small bow that involves a lot of hand circling. “Stew a la Charlie. There’s only a little left, so enjoy.” Steam drifts off the stew, carrying with it a delicious, aromatic smell.

Castiel sits up all the way, stretching his wings to their full extension. They feel a little cramped after he’s been lying on them for so long, so it feels good to move them around. He grabs the bowl and takes a long pull of the soup. It tastes so good that he doesn’t stop until his bowl is completely empty. 

“Someone was hungry,” Charlie remarks.

“That was delicious. You did a good job.”

“Actually, Dean made it.” Sam corrects him. “He used to cook with mom all the time when she was… well, when she was still alive. He kind of has a knack for it, huh?” A small, sad smile makes its way onto Sam’s face as he thinks of his mother. 

“My compliments to the chef,” Castiel deadpans. Looking around the campsite, he suddenly realizes that Dean is absent. “Where is Dean, anyway?”

Jo just snorts. She is sitting on the ground, sharpening her sword with long strokes of her arm. (Castiel nods his silent approval. It’s important to keep your weapons sharp.) “He needed to take a piss. Left right before you woke up, actually. Said something about not whipping it out when ladies were present, so he went a little ways into the woods.”

“Even I have my limits,” Dean says, ducking under a branch as he steps out of the trees, and Castiel’s brain short circuits. The prince isn’t wearing a shirt. His toned arms flex as he laces up his breeches, and Castiel can’t help but stare. Hard, corded muscles flex under golden skin, the firelight reflecting off of his chest catching light and shadow. His eyes follow the soft curve of his shoulder, trailing down his bicep and ending at the fingers tying his breeches and suddenly the faerie feels a surge of heat pool in the bottom of his stomach. He guiltily tries to suppress it. Dean has a fiancée. He is an eldest prince, not some swooning maiden for Castiel to sweep off of her feet. Anyhow, based on Dean’s words from yesterday, he doesn’t even like him.

Castiel suddenly meets his eyes. He hopes that the darkness of the evening sufficiently hides the blush on his cheeks. Dean pauses for a moment, and his next words stop Castiel cold. “Actually, Cas, I was wondering if I could talk to you?”

“Uh… go ahead,” he says from his place on the ground, feeling incredibly flustered. For heaven’s sake, he is thousands of years old, he’s seen his comrades shirtless all the time. This shouldn’t be affecting him at all!

Dean gives Castiel a searching look. “In private,” he amends. 

The faerie hesitates, looking around but seeing nothing that would possibly give him an excuse to refuse. “Alright,” he says after a moment. He pushes himself up off the ground, taking a moment to stretch. It seemed like being strapped to a horse for a few hours hadn’t done any favors for his cramped muscles. He looks around, finding his sword belt resting against his pack a few yards away. He buckles it around his waist. Just in case. 

“You ready, slowpoke?” The prince has pulled a clean shirt over his head. His tone is teasing, but Castiel detects a note of something else in his voice. Something is weighing on him.

Castiel gestures with his hand. “Lead the way.”

They walk about a hundred yards into the dark forest, Castiel carefully following in Dean’s footsteps until they can’t see the light of the campfire anymore. They only stop when Dean is completely sure that they are out of earshot. They are standing in a small clearing, the full moon shining a weak light on the prince’s features. Small creatures rustle in the underbrush. Castiel keeps a hand ready to draw his sword, seeing as how they are now officially in the Badlands. Going by the treaty, they shouldn’t encounter anything this close to the border, but it seems like the possibility they’ll run into something nasty is getting more and more likely.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly, bringing Castiel’s attention back to the present. “So…” the prince begins. “You saved my ass today, Cas. More than once, actually. Thanks.”

“You returned the favor.” He smiles gratefully. “I would have died today if you hadn’t killed that nightflyer.”

The prince shuffles, pulling uneasily at the cuff of his sleeve. “Yeah, well, no big deal.” Castiel can’t help but notice as the moonlight catches in his lashes, as Dean’s forest-green eyes seem to glow as they make eye contact. Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat. “But… that’s not exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” He pauses. 

“I’d assumed as much,” Castiel says. You don’t drag someone into the forest just to say thank you. “Go on.” 

“Well…” Dean rubs the back of his neck, taking a moment before he dives right into it. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.” His next words tumble out in a rush. “Look, when I said yesterday that I only wanted you around because we needed you, I was lying. I didn’t know I was lying, I guess I was just trying to convince myself, but I was actually really fucking worried about you. I like you, Cas, you seem goodhearted and brave and I really have no reason to hate you at all. And, well, I don’t know… maybe I shouldn’t have judged you based on the fact that… well, that you are a faerie. So I’m sorry.” Dean stops here, his breathing a little uneven after he pours out his apology. 

Castiel is stunned. All words seem to have deserted him, flying from his brain like startled birds. He stares at the prince, who is shifting uncomfortably as he waits for a reply. An owl hoots into the evening air, and crickets chirp from their hiding places beneath the undergrowth. For the first time, Castiel feels a glimmer of something in his chest. Hope. Hope that he and Dean can be friends, maybe even-

He stops himself. Lisa. Engagement. Human. Faerie. All reasons that they can be friends, and nothing more. Not like Dean wants that, anyway.

Castiel comes back to himself as he realizes that Dean is staring at him, waiting for a reply. 

“Oh. I don’t...” is all he can manage for a moment, and the prince’s face falls. 

“Yeah, I’m an asshole, I know,” he grunts, staring at the ground. He turns back toward the camp. “I guess I’ll go.”

Castiel gives a start of surprise. “Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs Dean’s upper arm. In his haste he must have gripped too tightly, because the prince gives a yelp of pain. He lets go quickly, watching Dean rub his arm. 

“That’s gonna bruise,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Castiel flushes. “My apologies. Don’t go.” His hand is tingling where it had made contact with Dean’s skin, and he clenches it tightly. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. They lock eyes again, and he can’t help but marvel at how green the prince’s eyes seem, even in the weak moonlight. Dean stares right back at him, swallowing as he takes in the faerie’s face. His eyes flick down to Castiel’s lips, then almost guiltily back up again. His breath stutters in his throat as they stand there, drinking each other in.

“What I was going to say,” Castiel says, a little breathlessly, “is that I don’t understand. Why you hated faeries in the first place, that is. But I accept your apology.” Castiel leans closer, trying to pinpoint exactly what shade of green those eyes are. It’s difficult to do in the moonlight. Dean mirrors his movements, neither of them breaking eye contact. “Thank you.”

“No… no problem, Cas,” Dean stutters, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Let’s just say that I’ve had some bad experiences. I guess they fueled my- my prejudice- quite a bit, to the point where… I actively wanted to believe that faeries were evil. I’m sorry.”

Castiel’s gaze drops to Dean’s lips. He wants to close the distance between them badly, but he knows it’s not a good idea, and besides, the sight of them reminds him of another kiss… “You kissed that demon!” He exclaims out of nowhere, and the spell is broken. 

Dean suddenly pulls back, and he can see the color in his cheeks despite the darkness of the night. “You made a deal with her, didn’t you?” Castiel asks accusingly. He feels anger rise in him as he pictures the demon in his mind’s eye, her seductive smile plastered in place as she leans forward to kiss Dean…

“About a week ago, yeah. Her name is Lilith. It was the only way to find Lisa.” For some reason, he stumbles over her name.

“You didn’t have to seal the deal,” Castiel says angrily. “Do you even know what you did? What you sold to her?”

“I’m beginning to get an idea, yeah.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, and suddenly the weight of the world makes his shoulders sag. “She wants my soul, doesn’t she?”

Castiel doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to. They both already know the answer to his question. The anger drains out of him as he sees the defeated expression on the prince’s face. “How long do you have?” he asks. 

“Ten years.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. They have time. Time to find a way out of this mess. “We can sort this out later, then,” Castiel sighs a breath of relief. 

“But…” Dean starts, pausing for a moment. “And I ask this because I really have no idea how these things work, since I only just found out that demons existed and all-,” He furrows his eyebrows. “You killed Lilith, didn’t you? So… is it possible that she doesn’t own my soul anymore?”

Castiel shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. Once the deal is made, any demon can collect on it. Just because you killed the one who sealed it doesn’t mean it’s not still valid.”

“Oh.” The prince’s eyes drop to the ground. “I just thought… well, never mind.”

“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” Concern laces Castiel’s words.

“Just my throat. Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll be fine.” Dean brings a hand up to his neck, grimacing as he touches it. Castiel hadn’t noticed the bruises in the weak moonlight, but as he looks closer he can see blue and black mottled coloring wrapped around the prince’s neck. He steps closer, bringing a hand up slowly so Dean has time to push it away. He doesn’t.

Castiel brushes his fingers lightly against the bruising, his heart beating loudly in his throat. Even at his light touch, the prince winces. Aside from the heavy bruising, Dean’s neck seems fine. Lilith hadn’t crushed his windpipe, hadn’t done anything fatal to the prince. It was obvious that she had held back. Demons aren’t allowed to kill their client and collect early (that certain stipulation is part of the deal, even if the client isn’t aware of it), so she’d never had any real leverage over Castiel anyway. Still, he remembers the rage that had made his vision go red as Dean was suspended in the air, struggling to breathe. It had been powerful enough to summon his magyk to the surface of his body, letting physical form and magyk truly become one. If one does this correctly, it can last for hours, but at that point Castiel had been so drained that even the few minutes he had sustained the fusion had knocked him unconscious. 

Still, it had been worth it. And Castiel feels fine, something that he doesn’t really feel the need to question at the moment. Not if it means he can continue to be useful on their quest. 

Castiel shifts his gaze to Dean’s lips. It’s unsettling at the very least to know that, just hours before, it had been a demon who had possession of them, even for a short amount of time. He shudders, feeling faint nausea rising in his stomach at the thought of it. 

He lets his fingers trail down Dean’s neck, feather light, before coming to rest at his side once more. Even this small amount of contact sets his fingers tingling and his wings fluttering, and he shouldn’t risk any more. 

Dean looks as uncomfortable as Castiel feels, his breathing uneven as he shifts from foot to foot. The prince clears his throat, his hand clenching and unclenching on the hilt of his sword as he suddenly becomes preoccupied with scanning the surrounding area. Suddenly he turns, staring at a spot in the underbrush.

“What is it?” Castiel whispers, only refraining from drawing his sword because Dean has not yet done so. 

“Could be nothing. I thought I heard something.” Castiel follows Dean’s gaze, staring intensely at the darkness of the forest beyond the clearing. He doesn’t see any movement, and when he strains his ears all he can hear is the sound of the forest.

After a couple moments of silence, Dean turns toward him. “Sorry. I guess I’m just a little jumpy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he assures the prince. “We’re all on edge. It’s been rough on all of us.” Especially Dean. Castiel knows how hard he’s taken Lisa’s disappearance, and he can tell that group’s steady pace isn’t fast enough for the prince. The deadline to find Lisa has been prominent in everyone’s minds. Three days down. Twelve days to go.

“We’ve only been out here for a few days.” Dean sighs. “I’ve just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off about all this. This whole damn quest.”

“Actually… I know what you mean.” The niggling thought in the back of Castiel’s head grows more insistent, but when he tries to solidify it, it melts under his focus like fog under direct sunlight. 

“Like what Lilith said at the inn.” Dean’s brows furrow in concentration as he struggles to remember exactly what she had said. “Something about Andais’s curse being right. Which curse do you think she was talking about?”

“What do you mean? There are two?”

Dean pauses before bringing his hand up to his forehead. “Of course you don’t know. Lisa was cursed as a baby by Andais, but the truth was hidden from most of the commoners.”

Castiel is intrigued. He’s never heard anything about this before. “Do you remember it?”

“What?”

“Can you recite the curse for me? Just so I get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Dean clears his throat. “Um, sure. Let’s see here…” He recites it smoothly, seeming to have memorized it long ago. “All the sparkling faerie favors cannot be princess's saviors. On her twentieth year, a stunted number, sunset will find her in eternal slumber. Lone antidote is true love's kiss, but ardor's indifference is evil's bliss.”

At the last line, Castiel furrows his brow. “So… when we find Lisa, you’ll have to kiss her to wake her up?” He feels an inexplicable pang in his gut at the words.

“That’s what it sounds like.” Dean snorts, not quite meeting Castiel’s eyes. “What cliché bullshit. But I don’t really get the last line.”

“Ardor’s indifference is evil’s bliss,” Castiel muses, eyes narrowed as he repeats the words in his mind. “That sounds ominous, Dean. Evil’s bliss? Not a good sign.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Dean almost sounds like he’s talking to himself. Circles ring Dean’s eyes, circles that hadn’t been there at the start of the journey. 

He feels a sudden pang of affection for the prince. He does his best to be reassuring. “You love Lisa, right?”

Dean hesitates a moment, meeting Castiel’s eyes. “I… I think so… yes, of course I do, yes. She’s my best friend, besides Sammy of course. And my fiancée. Of course I love her.”

Castiel suppresses the strange twist in his gut at those words, keeping his face neutral. “As long as we can get you to her in time, everything will be fine. Don’t worry, Dean.” He goes to put a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder, but a sudden, strange impulse lets his hand come to rest on Dean’s cheek. His stubble is rough under Castiel’s fingertips, and he swears that he feels the prince imperceptibly lean into the touch. He curls his fingers softly, letting them form the shape of Dean’s cheek before he realizes how wildly inappropriate this is.

“I’m sorry, that was-,” he begins to pull away, but Dean catches his hand and holds it tight.

His pulse hammers wildly under his skin as the prince leans forward, forward and down until their faces are only millimeters apart. If Castiel wanted to, he could tilt his chin up and close the distance. If he could bring himself to move. They meet each other’s eyes. Dean’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire and he sees his own emotions reflected in them. Confusion, conflict, lust, affection, everything he feels hammering under his skin is mirrored in Dean as well.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers against Dean’s lips.

“Me neither,” the prince says before tilting his head forward. 

Dean’s lips are soft and pliable, and Castiel lets his eyes fall shut as all thought escapes him. The contact is exhilarating and warm and perfect, and he feels himself letting go as he melts against the prince. His hands rest on Dean’s hips, pulling him closer as their lips move together in a soft hush of breath. Castiel feels fingers weaving themselves through his hair. He moans as Dean’s fists tighten, pulling his hair at the roots just right. Heat is quickly pooling in his gut, animal heat that he didn’t know he was capable of experiencing. 

A small voice protests in the back of his head, but Dean’s small, needy sounds easily drown it out. He presses closer, closer until his whole body is pressed tightly against the prince’s but it still isn’t enough. He pushes Dean backward until he runs into a tree, letting the kiss turn more heated as he slides a leg between the prince’s thighs.

“Dean,” he moans as the prince’s mouth leaves his, making a wet trail down his jawbone and to his neck. His stubble is rough and perfect as he sucks at Castiel’s neck, and his whole body feels electric. But the voice in the back of his head is becoming more insistent.

Stop this. Stop this right now. He is engaged, he has a fiancée, you are on a mission to rescue said fiancée and you need to stop. Right. Now. Then Dean sucks hard and Castiel can’t help the breathy moan that escapes him. He clutches at the prince’s hair, practically gasping at the pleasure that radiates through him. His wings tremble, and he struggles to keep them tucked and out of the way as Dean’s hands move down his back and toward the swell of his backside.

Castiel recaptures his mouth, and Dean’s tongue is wet and sweet. He tastes like coffee and stew and earth and Dean, of green forests and cool rain. Castiel cradles Dean’s cheek with his hand, letting his thumb swipe over a cheekbone as they kiss. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes between kisses, and Castiel lets his eyes fall shut as he loses himself in the sensation. But the voice is shouting now, that annoying voice that is determined to make itself heard.

WHAT IN THE NAME OF SIDHE ARE YOU DOING, CASTIEL? YOU’VE KNOWN THIS MAN FOR A WEEK, HE HAS BEEN PROMISED TO ANOTHER. END THIS NOW!

He pulls away with a sudden start of realization, his eyes going wide as he realizes the full extent of what they have just done. An icy tendril of shame slithers through his veins, dousing the heat which had so recently been coursing through him. They stay close, harsh breathing filling the silence between them.

Dean stares at Castiel, his eyes wide. “Shit,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean…”

“Consider it forgotten.” Castiel lets his gaze drop to the ground as he makes to pull away, but the prince grabs him and pulls him back into another kiss. He stiffens, but this one is chaste and gentle, only lasting a second. He pulls away quickly, staring into Dean’s eyes with confusion. He sees the same reflected back at him.

“But I thought…” Castiel whispers, his gravelly voice almost lost as he struggles to comprehend what is happening. “You said you loved her.”

“Shit. I didn’t know. I don’t know.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, his voice laced with distress. He tries to explain what he is feeling, but everything inside him is swirling into confusion. “Lisa and I… we were engaged as children, Cas. We’ve always been friends, and I’m worried sick about her, but… I don’t know if our love is the same kind of love as I feel for-,”

He stops himself guiltily, but the damage is done.

“You? Were you going to say ‘you’?” Castiel lets out a bitter laugh, taking a step backward. “Dean, we barely know each other. The first time we met, you insulted me and I tried to kill you. You only just apologized for being a racist assbutt and suddenly you’re in love?”

“Cas, that’s not what I meant-,” 

“Then what did you mean?” His tone is accusing.

A strange look crosses Dean’s features, his jaw clenching as he stares steadily at the ground. “Look… all my life, duty has been my first priority. Duty to my kingdom, duty to my people, my duty as the eldest prince to produce successors to the throne. It has always been my duty to marry Lisa, to unite our two kingdoms and produce an heir.”

Dean closes his eyes, continuing after a moment. “I mean, sure, I trust Lisa more than anyone. She’s one of my closest friends, and if she dies because of that stupid bat winged bitch then I will never forgive myself, but…” He furrows his brows together as he tries to string together his next words. “I don’t think… I don’t think I ever really felt anything for her. Not anything like this, anyway. This just… it felt real.” As he says this his eyes open, two green lights brightening the clearing.

Castiel sags, the anger draining out of him in a rush. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re engaged.”

“I know.” Dean slumps. “I know. There’s just something about you, Cas.” They stand in silence for a few moments, letting it hang between them like a wall. This is the part where Castiel is supposed to leave, where they rejoin the others and pretend like nothing ever happened. He would only speak to Dean when necessary. At most, they would become tentative friends. This is what should happen. A part of him desperately wants it. After all, it makes sense from a rational perspective.

And yet, there’s another part of him. A part of Castiel that wants to pull Dean to him and to never let go, not for anything. It goes beyond animal lust. Something deep inside of him draws him to the prince. The feeling in slightly unsettling in its intensity, but he does his best to suppress it. They can’t be together. It just isn’t possible.

“You might not like it, Dean, but you have responsibility,” Castiel says firmly. “You’ll get married, have kids, and I can’t be a part of that. It’s just the truth.” Suddenly, he lets out a bitter huff of a laugh. What makes him think Dean wants anything long term? “What am I saying? This was one kiss. It meant nothing.” He won’t let it mean anything. 

“Cas, I’m sorry-,”

“No. Don’t.” Castiel scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired and very mortal indeed. He looks up at Dean. 

The prince looks tortured, a conflict obviously waging inside him as they stare at each other. Castiel feels himself soften, if only a bit. After a moment of debate, he brings a hand up very, very carefully to Dean’s cheek, letting his thumb swipe gently over the cheekbone. It’s just a friendly touch. Nothing more. Dean closes his eyes, letting his head lean slightly into Castiel’s hand. “Cas,” he whispers. 

“Dean.” His caress only lasts for a few more moments, then Dean pushes his hand away. He turns in the direction of the camp. 

“Come on. They’re probably wondering where the hell we are.” Dean does his best to keep his voice neutral, but it doesn’t stop Castiel from detecting a slight waver at the end of the sentence. It’s unspoken that he doesn’t wish to talk about this mess any longer. The prince begins to walk, disappearing into the dark forest. He never looks back. 

It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t see the flash of pain on Castiel’s features, appearing only for a second as he composes himself and follows the prince’s lead.


	7. Chapter 7

They travel for another two days without further incident. They don’t spot any more Unseelie creatures, which Dean chalks up to blind luck considering they’ve been following the road in broad daylight. He does his best to avoid Castiel as much as possible, something that is relatively difficult considering how much time they are forced to spend together. The days are awkward as they ride further and further north, following the trail the spindle is weaving them. Its light seems to be getting brighter. Dean hopes that’s a good sign. (Holding the object seems to have gotten easier on Cas. Come to think of it, ever since the inn he’s looked much stronger. That white light must have been some weird faerie juice, or something. He doesn’t ask.)

The spindle’s thread usually runs parallel to the road, something that Dean is grateful for. It’s easier on the horses, even though their road is barely a footpath now. Sometimes it disappears entirely. Then, the group is forced to double back until they find it again. Dean usually leads the way. He likes to ride at the front of the group. It makes it easier to keep his gaze and his thoughts from drifting, as they inevitably always do, to Castiel. 

He can’t stop thinking about this kiss. How wrong it had been, yet how right it had felt. He tries to put it out of his mind, but little details keep coming back to him. The feel of Castiel’s stubble against his lips. The way his wings fluttered as he moaned. The gentle swipe of a thumb against Dean’s cheekbone. Dean feels guilt flood his stomach as he thinks about it, simultaneously feeling tremendous longing. He scans the distance, searching for any landmark in this flat, rocky terrain.

The Badlands stretches out before him in all its glory. Its brown, boring glory. The whole place is a light tan color, made mostly of stone and the occasional lizard. It’s amazing how quickly the terrain had changed from lush earth and forest to barren stone. Occasional trees dot the landscape, but they are all dead and grey. The whole place is a wasteland. 

Dean shades a hand with his eyes, but he still sees nothing. The hot, afternoon sun beats down on the travelers, slowly but surely soaking them with sweat. (You’d think it’d get colder the further north you went, but apparently not.) 

They have a whole day of riding ahead of them. Dean sighs, resigning himself to another dull afternoon with nothing but his fucking thoughts to keep him company. 

They have only gone for a few minutes when he hears his brother’s voice. “Hey, Dean,” Sam says suddenly, riding up to meet him. His eyes are focused on something in the distance. “Look at this.” He points, and Dean follows his finger. Directly in front of them is the unmistakable shadow of something out on the distant horizon. It almost looks like a forest, but instead of lush green trees, it just looks black. 

“What the hell?” Dean squints his eyes at the forest. How the hell had he missed it? Now that he looked, it was obvious, stretching out before them as far as the eye could see in both directions. 

“I know, right?” Sam reaches behind himself and rummages around in his saddlebag, finally pulling out a map. He unrolls it and holds it out in front of him. “So get this. There’s no sign of this forest on the map. We’re only about thirty miles across the border. All this territory should be charted.” He frowns, turning the map upside down and examining it again. That doesn’t seem to do much, because he only frowns harder.

“What gives?” Charlie asks. Her and Jo reign in beside the brothers, Castiel following suit. Dean glances at him, finding blue eyes ready to meet his. Castiel’s face is blank, impossible to read. 

“This creepy-ass forest just appeared out of nowhere,” Dean says. He gestures broadly to the forest, and three pairs of eyes go wide.

“What the hell?” Jo exclaims, giving a start of surprise as her eyes fall on the huge shadow in the distance. “How did I not notice that?” Charlie nods her agreement, too speechless for words.

“The Forest of Inle.” Castiel’s whisper is almost inaudible as he stares at the forest, his eyes narrowed. His fingers are clenched tightly on his reigns. “It’s said that it only reveals itself to those who must pass through it. It’s an evil place.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Dean mutters. 

Sam turns to Castiel with interest in his eyes. “I’ve never heard of it. What do you know?”

Castiel turns to him, his face grim. “It’s an unholy place, dangerous. They say time travels differently while you walk in the forest. Stories have been told of a man who walked in, fell asleep, and woke up only to find his children and grandchildren dead of old age. And that isn’t the worst of it.”

Charlie squeaks. “There’s more?”

“Much more. They say you see things that don’t exist between the shadows of the trees. Things from your past and future. Hallucinations that feel as real as if they are right in front of you. And creatures walk among the trees, or a creature, depending on whose story you listen to. They’re strange, intelligent beings, but vicious. Nobody knows what they really look like, though. Not a soul has seen one. Well, and lived to tell about it.”

Charlie gets paler, if at this point that’s even possible. Dean reaches around Jo and catches her hand, squeezing. “Enough with the ghost stories, Cas, we get it. Not a fun place.”

“Sounds like a grand old time to me! Those things don’t stand a chance.” Jo grins, patting her sword for emphasis. 

“Are you sure we’re headed that way?” Sam gives Castiel a questioning look. “We may be able to avoid it altogether.”

“Let’s find out.” Dean reaches into his saddlebag and retrieves the spindle, which has been wrapped in a blue handkerchief. “You don’t mind, do you Cas? I know figuring out which direction we gotta go ain’t any fun for you.” Hopefully, nobody notices how Dean stumbles slightly over the faerie’s name. 

 

“It’s alright, Dean. Though I believe I already stated that the forest only shows itself to those who must cross through it.”

“It’s probably best to make sure,” Sam says apologetically. Castiel sighs, visibly bracing himself. Nobody in the group likes to do this to him, but it’s the only way to be sure they’re on the right path. They pass the spindle down to Charlie, who is the closest to Cas. She unwraps the handkerchief just a bit, letting only part of it show. They’ve found that the less that Castiel touches it, the easier it is for him to manage his pain. 

Castiel takes a breath before placing two fingers on the spindle. He jolts. Immediately it begins to glow, and after a moment a white thread of light shoots out of it. Unfortunately, it heads straight for the Forest of Inle, streaking a trail of light a few feet of the ground. Castiel is gritting his teeth, his jaw clenched as he stands up to the pain for as long as he can. 

“That’s enough, Cas!” Sam calls. 

Charlie quickly yanks the spindle away, wrapping it back in the cloth as Castiel lets his hand drop. He brings his hand up to his face, flexing his fingers painfully. “That’s never going to get any easier, is it?” he says, almost to himself. 

They spur their horses toward the forest. They seemed to have misjudged the distance, however, because they still haven’t reached the forest by nightfall. It looms slightly larger, about four or five miles from them. Night comes quickly in the Badlands, and the group collectively decides the safest course of action is probably to find a good camping spot a little ways from the forest. Just in case. 

They ride a little further. Only the top of the sun still peeks over the horizon, shining a last bit of daylight on the travelers. They come to an unexpected dip in the land, and as they reach the edge they see something they hadn’t expected to see at all.

A little cottage sits in the middle of the barren wasteland. Wrapped around the cottage is a wooden porch, and sitting on the porch, knitting and humming as loud as she pleases, is a dark old woman.

Dean comes to a sudden stop. The others look as shocked as he feels, stopping at the crest of the gentle slope leading down to her cottage. 

The woman looks up and smiles, waving to them as if they are old friends. She motions for them to come toward her. Dean exchanges a wary look with Sam.

“I don’t have all day, Winchester,” she suddenly calls, getting to her feet. Even though she barely raises her mellow voice, it carries clearly up to the travelers. “Are you and your friends comin’ in, or not?”

How the hell does she know who they are? Is she magical? She could be dangerous for all they know. The woman smirks, as if she can read Dean’s thoughts. “I’m a psychic, honey. I’ve known you were comin’ for a few days now. Don’t worry, you’ll all be safe with me. Safer than you will be out in the open, anyway.”

Dean stares. Had she… she had… read his mind? His brain short circuits as he tries to process the information. How is this possible? How can- no, you know what? I’m not even going to think about it.

“Dean, are you alright?” Charlie gives him a concerned look. “You’ve gone a bit pale.” 

“I’m fine.” His voice sounds a bit hoarse, and he clears his throat. The woman is still standing on the porch, waiting with an expectant look on her face. “What do you guys think? Cas? You know anything about psychics? Can we trust her?”

Castiel furrows his brows as he thinks. “I’ve only met a few, so I’m not really an expert. The last one I met was… two centuries ago, I believe. They’re quite rare.” He looks up at Dean, meeting his eyes with a steady blue gaze. “This one gives of a very powerful aura, but I don’t sense anything malicious about her. Though I’m a little concerned with why she’s out here all on her own.”

“You come in and have a little supper, and I’ll tell you,” the psychic calls. An amused look rests across her face. 

Dean shrugs, looking at the others for conformation. Jo nods. They spur their horses down the gentle slope. 

“Here we are,” she says. “I’ve got a little stable out back. It should be able to fit five more. Once you darlings are finished, you’d better come inside. Supper’s getting cold.”

The companions soon find themselves sitting around a small dining table (which, Dean notes, has already been set for six). A virtual feast lies before them- buttered rolls, corn on the cob, roast beef, and mashed potatoes all rested in the center of the table. Who knows where the woman had gotten this food in the middle of a wasteland, but Dean isn’t complaining. The mouthwatering aroma makes his stomach growl. They’ve had nothing but road rations for days.

“Dig in. I know you’re starved.” She taps the side of her nose, smiling as everyone begins to eat ravenously. Dean doesn’t even care if it’s poisoned- everything tastes so good that he almost forgets they’re sitting in a stranger’s house in the middle of enemy territory, only miles away from a creepy-ass forest that people disappear into. To forget about the huge fucking mistake he had made a few days ago, to forget the way it had felt when Cas had-

Whoops. Better head that train of thought off at the pass. There’s a psychic in the room, after all. He’ll have to be more careful of what he thinks about. He hopes the others are doing the same. He spares a glance at the woman, who is giving him a curious look. Shit. Looks like it had been too late. He looks guiltily down at his plate, a knot forming in his stomach. That second helping of mashed potatoes doesn’t look so appetizing anymore. 

The woman clears her throat loudly, causing everyone at the table to look at her. She smiles warmly at all of them. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meal, but this is probably the best time for us to speak. You all look absolutely exhausted. I’d imagine you’d want to get straight to sleep after supper. So I’ll introduce myself, and maybe answer a few questions you all have.” Her mellow voice fills the room pleasantly. “My name is Missouri Mosley. Some call me the Keeper of the Forest.”

“The forest?” Sam exclaims. “You mean the forest of- what was it, Inle?”

“Exactly right.” She beams. “I make sure all travelers through the forest know the rules, to make sure they have the best possible chance of surviving the journey through it.”

“That’s strange,” Castiel murmurs quietly. He narrows his eyes at the woman, studying her. She turns to him, pausing for a moment before speaking. 

“There has only been a keeper for a hundred years or so. Maybe that’s why you don’t recall my position. It’s a fairly recent addition.” Castiel looks startled, as if surprised that she had plucked the question from his thoughts without any effort at all.

“Excuse me, but what do you mean by the rules?” Sam asks around a mouthful of bread roll. Missouri gives him a strange look, and Jo kicks him under the table. He flushes, swallowing before he continues. “I mean, you said we needed to know them to survive this thing, right? So… I thought you could…” He withers under Missouri’s stare. 

“As I was saying, my job as the keeper is to tell you the three cardinal rules of crossin’ through the forest. One- stay on the path. The things that live in the forest aren’t the only things that are alive. The forest itself is alive, too. You may see things that aren’t really there, even though they seem as real as you and me. This may seem obvious, but you cannot let anything you see lure you off the path. Understand?” She narrows her eyes at them, pausing to make sure they’ve all recognized the significance of this rule.

“Understood,” Sam replies.

“Two- don’t find yourself in the forest after nightfall. It takes almost a full day to journey from one side to the other, so don’t take your time. Make sure you’re completely out of the tree line by the time the last light of the settin’ sun fades. Keep in mind that time seems strange in the forest. Whatever you do, do not stop. Keep walkin’, and you’ll make it through.”

“What happens if you’re in the forest at night?” Charlie asks tentatively, as if she doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“Let’s just say the creature of the forest is nocturnal. As long as it’s asleep, you should be fine.”

“And rule number three?” Dean asks.

“This is the most important rule of the three. Be quiet.” Missouri narrows her eyes, staring at each one of them in turn to make sure they understand. “Only speak when necessary while you are within the forest, is that understood? No talkin’, singin’ hummin’, nothin’.”

“That’s seems like a stupid rule,” Dean mutters quietly to himself. Of course, Missouri turns on him immediately. 

“Seems stupid, does it? Won’t seem so stupid when I’m scrapin’ you off the forest floor. Any noise could wake up the creature within. Trust me, you can’t handle it. Your best chance is to get through quick and quiet-like.”

Castiel nods, setting his napkin down of the plate. “Thank you, Miss Mosely.”

“Please, call me Missouri.” She shoots him a gentle smile.

“Missouri, then. Our thanks for all your help, but we should probably get to bed. We should begin our journey at dawn, so we’ll have as much time as possible to cross through the forest.” He stands, his chair scraping on the wooden floorboards.

“Of course,” she smiles. She stands as well. “You must all be exhausted. I’ve got some extra beds upstairs. There should be enough for all of you, so get some rest.”

Dean stands too, since it seems to be the thing to do. “Thanks for the grub. I haven’t eaten this well in a while.” Missouri nods, and he can tell his compliment has pleased her. Good. He doesn’t know what kind of powers she may have, but it’s probably a smart move to stay on her good side. Just in case. Missouri gives him an amused look, raising an eyebrow, and Dean flushes. Shit. He had forgotten about the mind reading thing. 

He quickly excuses himself, climbing the stairs to the second floor. It’s strange- he wouldn’t have thought the little dwelling was so roomy, judging by the outside. Still, he doesn’t think about it much. Dean is just excited to sleep in a bed.

He collapses onto one of the mattresses, not even bothering to take off his shoes. The last week or so has taken a toll on him, and suddenly his exhaustion hits him full-force. Unconsciousness calls to him sweetly, and it barely takes a minute before Dean is asleep.

-

Flames. They lick hot and rough up the walls of the carriage, consuming everything around him. Dean yelps in pain as one of them lingers for too long on the palm of his small hand, quickly drawing it to his chest. The narrow space barely allows him room to move. Blurry tears obscure his vision as he screams for his mother, his voice choked with fear. But there’s nothing, only black smoke and hellish red flames everywhere he looks. The young boy begins to cry. 

That’s when she appears. Dean’s mother emerges from the smoke, her one fine gown now torn and stained with blood. Red oozes from a gash in her stomach, layers of cloth and bodice and flesh torn open. The smoke has turned her once pure white dress into an ashy grey, and she fixes him with accusing eyes. Suddenly, Dean can’t move. He watches as she comes closer and closer, one bloodstained hand reaching toward him.

“You left me, Dean,” she says quietly. “You left me here to die.”

Wide, teary eyes meet accusing bloodshot ones. “I… no, I didn’t-,”

“Stop telling liesss…” She draws out the last hissing ‘s’, and Dean can hear it over the crackle and pop of the flames. The word pierces him like a blade, and he doubles over, grabbing his stomach. 

“No…” he whispers. Hot tears run down his face and hit the smoking floorboards. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. So sorry…mom…”

His mother moves closer and closer, until she is close enough to touch him. A sticky finger leaves a trail of red across his cheek. The young prince squeezes his eyes shut, inching away, but now the hands have reached his throat. They squeeze. Dean can’t breathe, he can’t-

-

Dean wakes with a start. He brings a hand to his face, and it comes away wet. He won’t sleep again tonight. 

-

All five companions are waiting in front of the Forest of Inle, standing next to their well-rested horses. They had made the four mile journey to the forest’s edge while it was still dark, and only now is the eastern sky getting lighter. Missouri had said the path was too rocky to ride through the forest as quickly as they needed to go, so they’ll be forced to lead their horses by the reigns while they travel on foot. Dean just hopes they’ll make it through in time.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, glancing eastward. The first rays of dawn have made an appearance, but Missouri won’t let them begin their journey until the sun itself has peeked over the horizon. She watches the sky intensely. Her eyes are narrowed as she stares, not moving a muscle as she waits for the sun to rise.

Dean finds that all this waiting makes his nerves worse. His stomach is already twisting as he thinks of the danger that lies ahead of them- the danger that he’s putting his friends in. And he can’t stop thinking about Lilith’s words. ‘In total, journeyers be five, but four of these return alive.’ Dean can’t shake off a bad feeling about this whole thing. Still, it’s the way they have to go if they want to rescue Lisa.

He glances at Castiel, a little startled to find intense blue eyes already staring at him. The faerie’s expression is unreadable. Dean lets his gaze flick away quickly, trying to avoid the flood of emotions that looking at the faerie brings with it. He doesn’t need this right now. He can’t be distracted, not now, not when everyone is counting on him to be prepared to face anything. Dean steels himself, compacting his emotions into a lead ball and shoving it somewhere deep inside himself.

Instead, he turns to Jo, who is chewing on her lip. “You nervous?” he asks.

“You wish,” she scoffs, but her twitchy fingers give her away. Jo has on her leather chest protector, her sword belt neatly slung across her waist. Her fingers drum out a nervous beat on the hilt of her sword, onetwothree onetwothree onetwothree. It’s evident that she’s expecting something to go wrong.

Dean huffs, making it obvious that he doesn’t believe her. “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine.”

“I told you, I’m not worried. You’ll get us through this.” She smirks. “Or rather, I’ll get us through this, since I’m probably the one who will have to save your useless ass.”

He’s about to retort when Missouri suddenly speaks. “It’s time.”

Dean glances to the east, surprised to see the first hint of the sun already peeking over the horizon. “Showtime,” he mutters quietly to himself. Jo gives him an amused glance. They make their way to the beginning of the path through the dark woods. The gnarled trees give off an ominous vibe. The sooner all of this is over, the better.

Missouri gives them a few final words of wisdom. “Remember, don’t stray off the path, and don’t say a word,” she warns. The psychic pauses for a moment before suddenly clapping her hands. ”I almost forgot to tell you somethin’, silly me. The forest doesn't like large groups, so don't be alarmed if you should find yourself separated from the others. Just keep going, and don't get stuck in there after nightfall. You’ll find each other when you make your way out.”

“Just peachy,” Dean mutters under his breath. “Anything else you’re forgetting to tell us?”

She ignores the sarcasm in his voice. “That’s it. Good luck to all of you. I hope we’ll meet again.”

“We probably will,” Sam chimes in. “Since we have to come back this way.” Dean’s heart sinks at the realization.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Dean leads his horse into the forest just as the sun makes its way above the horizon. They are immediately plunged into darkness. The gnarled branches of the dead trees make a roof over their heads, effectively blocking out most of the sunlight. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but even then, the forest isn’t a pretty sight.

Not a single living thing moves among the trees. Everything here seems dead. He keeps moving, occasionally glancing behind him to make sure the others are still following. The others look tense, each of them ready to draw their weapons at the drop of a pin. They walk for an hour. Their steps are virtually noiseless on the strange mossy floor of the forest. 

That’s why it takes Dean a moment to realize something is off. He pauses, suddenly realizing that for the past few seconds, he has only been able to hear two sets of footsteps. He whips around, met with only the sight of a shocked Castiel. 

He almost gives a shout of surprise, but stifles it in his throat at the last second. He looks frantically at Cas, who is rummaging in his saddlebag for something. The faerie pulls out a notebook and a pencil, quickly jotting something down. He then passes the notebook to Dean. Sparks run up his hand as their fingers brush, and the prince does his best to ignore them.

One moment they were here, and the next they had disappeared. Remember what Missouri said. The forest must have separated us. Keep going.

Dean nods, handing the journal back to Cas. Their only option is to keep pushing forward, and hope they’ll find everyone else on the other side. Though Dean can’t help but curse his luck. Out of all people, the forest had stuck him alone with Cas. He glances at the faerie, who is now walking beside him, thankful for the fact that they don’t have to talk to each other. He doesn’t think he would be able to handle awkward small talk, not now.

They push on, walking for hours. Dean’s feet begin to ache. Even this deep into the forest, everything looks exactly the same. A dim grey light is all that filters through the dense branches, and everything is virtually noiseless. It’s eerie- in the green forests around the castle, every tree had been teeming with life. Here, there isn’t even the chirping of insects to keep you company.

They round a bend, coming to another long stretch of path that looks exactly the same as every other part of this fucking woods. Dean lets out an internal groan, suddenly stopping. They must be near the other side by now. He is bone weary with exhaustion- it feels like they’ve been walking for days. He turns to Cas, using his hand to scribble in the air, and he seems to get the idea. Cas passes him the notebook. 

It feels like we’ve been in this fucking woods for longer than a day. How is it not night yet? Have we even gone anywhere? Everything looks the same.

Castiel scribbles his reply. 

The forest warps people’s time perception. Just keep going. We’ll make it through.

Dean sighs softly, wishing with all his being for something to break the tedium. In retrospect, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. 

It starts with a strange humming, at first so quiet that he doesn’t even register it. The humming sound builds and builds, a deep note that he feels deep in the pit of his stomach. He stops warily, dropping his horse’s reigns before drawing his sword with a soft whisper of metal on metal. 

Castiel pulls his longbow off his back, nocking an arrow. They stand silent and still, waiting as the humming sound gets so ear-splittingly loud that Dean’s head begins to ache. Then, it fades, and the forest around him goes with it.

Dean finds himself standing alone in the middle of a meadow. The sun is shining, and birds chirp as they fly cheerily above him. Long grass waves in the gentle breeze, with occasional wildflowers dotting the field. The only thing that has remained the same about his surroundings is the moss covered path under Dean’s feet, leading off into the distance. 

What the actual fuck? “Cas?” he shouts, looking around frantically. “Cas, where are you?”

Dean starts off down the path, jogging a few steps before he hears the faerie’s answering call. “Over here, Dean!”

He stops, searching for the source of the voice. “Where are you?”

“Right here.” Dean jumps. The voice is alarmingly close, and he whips around to find Castiel standing amidst the field of waving grass, not ten yards from him. 

“Cas, thank god. I thought I had lost you. I don’t think I could handle being alone in this freaky ass place.” He does his best to come across as unconcerned, but his heart is beating so loudly in his chest that he can practically hear it. There’s something off about this whole meadow. It’s almost too cheery, too perfect.

“There’s something I need to show you, Dean.” Castiel says in a flat voice, staring at Dean with his hands resting by his sides. “Come here.”

Dean furrows his brows. “I don’t know. We should probably keep moving. Going by the path I’m standing on, we’re probably still in the forest and this is some funky mass hallucination. We still have to make it out of here by nightfall.” He expects immediate compliance. What he doesn’t except is rage filling the faerie’s face.

“No!” Castiel shouts. “This is important. Come to me, Dean.” He holds out a hand, his wings flaring brilliantly blue in the glaring sun. Something compels Dean to go toward Castiel, but he suddenly stops himself. This isn’t right. Castiel is acting strangely. There’s something off about his features, the way they seem harsh and two-dimensional in the brilliant sunlight and suddenly the wary feeling is back full force.

Dean takes a step back. “Uh…” he stalls, staring at the faerie’s unmoving, outstretched hand. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea. I’m not supposed to step off-,” he stops as realization hits him. He brings his sword up to a guard, keeping his feet firmly planted in the mossy path. “Where is Castiel?”

The faerie tilts his head, his eyes narrowing in apparent confusion. “I’m right here, Dean.”

“No. You’re trying to get me off the path, aren’t you?” Dean snarls, rage and fear flooding him. “Where the hell is he?”

Not-Castiel doesn’t respond. Instead, he goes fuzzy at the edges, and as Dean stares he realizes everything is fading, everything except for him. And suddenly he is standing in the murky woods again, and somebody is pulling at his arm and shouting.

“-right here! Dean, snap out of it! What in the name of Sidhe is going on, I’m right next to you.”

Dean blinks, slowly lowering his sword as his eyes adjust to the light in the forest. “Sorry, Cas… that was fucking weird.”

“What happened?”

“The forest is messing with my brain.” It’s then that his eyes go wide, and in his panic he slaps his hand to Castiel’s mouth. Horror dawns on the faerie’s face as he realizes that he’s been shouting, that they’ve both broken Missouri’s third rule rather loudly. They freeze in place, Dean’s hand still covering Castiel’s mouth, waiting and watching for something, anything to happen.

Silence. The tension drains away after a few minutes of nothing. The creature of the forest must be a heavy sleeper, or else he’s especially tired today. Lucky for them. Dean sighs with relief, meeting Castiel’s eyes and suddenly he realizes how close they are. He can see the other man realizes it too, because his pupils are blown wide. If Dean wanted to, he could take his hand off of Castiel’s mouth and close the distance between them and no one would know, no one-

He chews on his lip, reluctantly pulling away. This isn’t the time or place (if either really exists). He jerks his head in the direction that the path follows. They’ve wasted enough time already. Castiel nods, clearing his throat quietly. Dean takes his horse by the reins, and they continue through the darkened forest. 

They only make it a hundred yards when Dean hears a voice calling to him, a familiar voice that makes his stomach jump into his throat. “Help me,” she calls, panic evident in her voice as she cries out. “Somebody, please, help me! Dean, where are you? Why did you leave me alone?”

Lisa. She’s here. He turns to Cas, and judging by the shocked look on the faerie’s face he can hear it too. So it isn’t a hallucination. She’s real, she must be trapped somewhere in the forest. Their journey is almost at an end. Dean stops in his tracks, straining to hear the voice again. 

There! It’s coming from between the branches to his right. He drops his horse’s reigns, making a beeline for the source of the voice when something yanks the back of his jerkin. He struggles, twisting around to find Cas holding tight to him. Dean yanks out of his grip, his eyes wide as he tries once again to step off the path and rescue Lisa, but this time Castiel tackles him to the ground. 

Dean struggles under the heavy weight of the faerie. He uses all his training, trying to push Castiel off, but soon he is pinned to the ground. Castiel brings his mouth down right next to Dean’s ear, his whisper a harsh rasp. “Dean, stop struggling. She’s not real. Can’t you see it’s the forest again, trying to lure you off the path?”

“You don’t know that,” he hisses, still struggling to push him off. 

“Yes, I do. She’s supposed to be sleeping, remember? Anyway, listen to her voice, Dean, really listen to it.”

He stops, straining his ears, and he hears her cry out again. “Dean, help me! Someone, please! I’m scared!” The desperation in her voice almost compels Dean to go to her, but he hears what Castiel is talking about. The smallest of echoes accompanies her voice, making it sound tinny and unreal. It’s just a slight difference that he hadn’t noticed while he had felt the need to save her, but now that he has noticed it he realizes that Castiel is right. He can’t believe he almost fell for the same trick twice in a row.

He meets Castiel’s eyes, nodding his understanding. The faerie slowly gets up, helping him to stand. They push on. 

The forest throws more visions at him, but this time Dean is ready. They seem to be spaced regularly now, each one designed to shock him into walking off the path. He walks right past a blurry vision of Lisa, lying on the ground unconscious. Another shows Sam, dangling from a rope in a nearby tree, blood dripping from a gash in his stomach. Castiel catches his hand and squeezes it, leading him past the horrific scene. The next hallucination has him dropping the faerie’s hand quickly.  
Castiel lies seductively on a bed, almost completely undressed. A blanket lies across his waist, barely covering anything. The faerie hallucination winks, reclining on the sheets with his translucent wings spread wide behind him. Dean feels himself getting uncomfortably warm, and he shoots an embarrassed look at the real Castiel standing beside him.

He doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, the faerie is staring at a different, seemingly empty spot in the woods. His face is blank, but Dean notes the tinge of pink dusting his cheeks. He feels himself blushing as well. Judging by the fact that Castiel is suddenly unable to make eye contact with him, he thinks he can guess exactly what the faerie is seeing.

Dean clears his throat uncomfortably, moving on as quickly as possible, but it’s too late. The image has been seared onto the back of his eyelids. He finds himself glancing at Castiel, wondering what the real thing would look like spread across his dark bedsheets, flushed and panting and-

Oh. His pants are suddenly a little too tight, and he flushes in embarrassment. This can’t be fucking happening, not now. He scrolls through his mental reserve designed for this situation- his naked grandma, his grandparents bumping uglies, dead baby ducks, etc., but he blinks and suddenly his reality has changed again.

Dean looks around, taking in the cool evening air and crescent moon. They are standing by a well-traveled dirt road, rolling hills stretching out in all directions around them. The sound of crickets chirping fills the night. Castiel stands beside him, looking equally confused at the sudden change of scenery. A light breeze ruffles the faerie’s hair as he surveys the area. 

Dean’s head is reeling. This is all too much, the forest throwing one thing after another at him until he can barely think. This scene seems to be empty, though. He gives Castiel a confused look, but the faerie just shrugs. Are they supposed to do something? He’s about to start down the road when a faint sound makes its way to his ears.

The clip-clop of horses’ hooves echoes down the dirt road. From the sound of it, a carriage is approaching them rather quickly. Dean grabs Castiel, pulling him flat against the mossy earth as they listen to the carriage approach, closer and closer until Dean can make out the tune that the driver is whistling. Unease grows in his stomach as he listens to the sound. It’s too familiar. He furrows his brows, struggling to place it, but by the time the memory comes to him it’s too late.

The carriage rolls past them, and Dean barely has time to recognize the royal crest marking the door before it’s ambushed. 

An Unseelie horde pours out of the neighboring hills, running past Dean and Castiel without giving them a second glance. Dean scrambles up, ready to fight, but numbing shock crashes through him as a goblin runs straight through him, as if he were made of nothing but smoke. How can this be possible? He uses his sword to swing at another, but it passes through the snarling goblin’s head harmlessly. He gapes in disbelief. Not only is Dean reliving the worst day of his life, but he can’t even do anything about it. All he can do is stand and watch as the creatures attack the royal carriage, the one that had contained the ten-year-old version of himself and his mother all those years ago.

He’s done his best to suppress the memory, but seeing it all playing out before his eyes has the terror and panic of the day returning full force. He watches as the coachman is dragged, begging, from his seat and killed without a second glance. He watches as his younger self slips out of the side door, running between the legs of a goblin and escaping into the hills. He watches as the Unseelie pound on the coach door, as one stabs its sword through the wall of the coach and hits its mark.

There are no guards. His mother had wanted to travel discreetly and quickly, bringing her eldest to safety during the war, and it had cost her life.

His mother’s scream is exactly how he remembers it. The creatures laugh, one of them using a torch to set the carriage ablaze. Flames lick greedily up the side, consuming the lacquered wood like a starving animal. The horses scream, trying to get away from the flames that lick at their flesh. All he can do is numbly watch, the flames rising higher and higher into the night, accompanied by the screams of his mother.

Somebody grabs his hand. He starts, glancing over to find Castiel looking at him with pity and understanding in his eyes. Dean doesn’t need his pity, resents it, but his fingers don’t listen to his brain. They wrap tightly around Castiel’s, and despite himself, Dean feels more anchored. 

Somewhere in the hills, a frightened boy listens to his mother being murdered from the safety of a hollow log. The boy shivers, curling tightly into a ball until his father’s guards come upon the husk of the carriage the next day. Upon finding only two bodies, they fan out until they find the shaking boy, still curled in his hollow log.

That night had been the longest of Dean’s life. He has tried his hardest to forget, but some memories never fade. He supposes that this awful day had been the root of his hatred of faeries. After all, if faeries hadn’t existed, then his mother may still be alive. The familiar loathing feeling trickles up at the sight of the burning carriage and the laughing Unseelie, but he realizes with some surprise that he doesn’t really mean it. Not all of it, anyway. He hates these Unseelie with a burning passion, but he doesn’t blame all faeries for the death of his mother. Not anymore.

Meeting Castiel had changed that, had shown Dean something that he suspects he had known all along deep down. Faeries are people, just like the rest of us. Some are bad, some are good, most are somewhere in-between, but he can’t use his hatred like a shield whenever he encounters one. And in this moment, Dean feels something shift inside of himself.

He squeezes the faerie’s fingers, finally turning away from the horrific scene in front of him. He closes his eyes, gathering all the pent up resentment and anger that he had built up against faeries, ever since this moment. He packs it all into his chest, takes a deep breath, then just… lets it go. A weight he hadn’t even been aware of is suddenly lifted off his shoulders. 

When he opens his eyes again, they are standing back in the dimly lit forest. Dean feels drained, emotionally and physically, but at the same time he feels better than he has in years. He looks at Castiel. The faerie squeezes his hand tightly, scrutinizing his face with a worried look and Dean is hit with the sudden, manic urge to laugh. 

The faerie leans in closely, his lips barely brushing Dean’s ear. “Are you alright?” he murmurs almost inaudibly, his voice laced with concern. It’s that moment that Dean realizes he is trembling, his palm sweaty against Castiel’s. He doesn’t respond, only squeezes his hand tightly, taking reassurance from the steady presence of the faerie’s hand, but suddenly it’s not enough. He tilts his head forward, burying his face in Castiel’s neck. He feels the man stiffen with surprise, but after a moment fingers thread their way through Dean’s hair. 

They stand like that for a long time, Dean just breathing until the trembling subsides. Castiel’s stubble is rough against Dean’s face, and if he holds his breath he imagines he can feel the faerie’s pulse, steady and warm and comforting. After a few minutes, he pulls away. They need to get going.

Dean looks around, concern suddenly filling him. Is it just him, or is it slightly darker in here than it had been a few minutes ago? Castiel seems to notice too, his eyes widening slightly. They look at each other, then hurry down the path. 

It’s not Dean’s imagination- the light in the forest is definitely fading, and fast. That can only mean one thing. The sun is setting. They are running out of time. 

A sudden sound makes Dean stumble. He has become so accustomed to only the noise of his companions that the sound of movement far off to his left sends coarse fear jolting through him. He meets the faerie’s horrified gaze, and they break into a run down the mossy path. Looks like they hadn’t escaped the creature’s notice after all.

An awful clacking sound reaches Dean’s ears, a clickclickclick that gets louder and louder until Dean is able to trace the creature’s movement through the trees by sound alone. It’s running parallel to them, scuttling along the ground as it begins to overtake them. Dean can’t see it, but that somehow makes it worse. They run a little faster. 

A second sound overlays the first, a strange metallic slice of metal on metal that has Dean’s imagination doing frightened circles. Adrenaline courses through him, rough and exhilarating. His muscles burn as he runs as fast as he can, still holding tight to Castiel’s fingers. 

The sound of the creature fades away for a few moments. They keep running. Maybe it had gotten bored with them. Maybe it isn’t hungry. 

The hope is dashed when he hears the screams of their horses coming from somewhere behind them, accompanied by a terrible whirring and clicking sound. Shit. 

They keep running, and as they round another bend in the road Dean sees it. A long tunnel of dark trees stretches out before them, and at the end, the light of the setting sun shines onto the path. They’re almost out. It’s a straight shot to freedom, and Dean and Castiel put on an extra burst of speed as the clicking noise resumes somewhere behind them. Dean can hear it scuttling along the moss-covered path, its steps slightly muffled as it comes after them. 

Dean stumbles as a voice echoes throughout the forest, soft and childlike. “Run, run, run for your life,” it singsongs, taunting them. “Will you make it out? I don’t know, I don’t know.” The voice begins to giggle, flowing above and below the running pair. At this point, Dean’s fear only allows him to think in single word objectives, his pulse racing as the clicking from the creature gets closer and closer. Coming. Fight? No. Castiel. Run. Faster. Breathe. Coming. Coming. Escape. Help. 

They get closer and closer to the end of the path. Their desperate footsteps make hardly any noise on the mossy path. Dean’s feet are a blur under him, and a stabbing cramp in his side keeps him from breathing deeply enough. His throat is a ragged mess, but none of it matters because they are almost out. Thirty feet. Twenty. Almost there, but the thing is right behind them now. Its metallic clicking and whirring is a sound that Dean will never forget, something that will haunt his dreams for the rest of his days to come.

The treeline of the forest doesn’t fade gradually, as in a normal forest where the trees slowly thin out until there are none left. It ends abruptly, a solid mass stretching out in a straight line in all directions. They suddenly shoot out into the open, and Dean can swear he feels something sharp graze his back just as they cross the threshold to the outside world. 

Dean falls to his hands and knees, gasping in the humid evening air. Sweat drips off of his forehead and onto the baked earth. His throat is parched and ragged. Castiel, on the other hand, comes to a sudden stop and pivots on the balls of his feet, his sword already drawn and at the ready.

But there is nothing. Not only has the creature disappeared, but the whole forest is gone as well. It’s like it never existed- all he can see is flat expanses of tan earth. The sun barely peeks over the horizon, illuminating the vast emptiness with a smug satisfaction.

They take a moment to catch their breath. Dean is much worse off than Castiel, having to roll onto his back and will himself to calm down. Leftover adrenaline still courses through him, his heart beating fast as fear slowly leaves his body.

“Let’s never do that again,” Dean pants, only half joking. He knows he can’t go through the forest a second time. On their way back, they’ll have to find a way around.

Castiel answers him with a small smile. The faerie kneels beside him, a faint sheen of sweat making his skin glisten. He breathes deeply, letting his hand come to rest on Dean’s soaked hair. This is how the others find them.

“They’re over here!” Charlie appears at the crest of a hill, waving to someone behind her before she runs down toward them. Her orange hair is illuminated by the setting sun, almost making it look like her head is on fire. Dean grimaces, remembering the horrific scene with his mother, and he blinks hard. 

Charlie reaches them first. She falls to her knees, checking them for injuries and babbling like a worried mother. “We came out of the woods an hour ago, but we couldn’t find you at all! And then it just disappeared into thin air. I can’t believe it. Sam was so worried about you two. Dean, you look a little pale, are you alright? Is that blood? Roll over.”

Despite his weak protests (“I’m fine, Charlie, keep your panties on”), he obeys her instructions, turning so that his stomach is pressed into the dry earth. He hears her gasp sharply. “Jesus, Dean, your shirt is soaked! Is it? Dean doesn’t feel anything, just a bone weary exhaustion that permeates his very bones. They peel off his shirt. He senses, rather than sees, Castiel’s worried frown.

Sam and Jo join the rest of the group just as Charlie finishes cleaning the wound. It’s a long gash that runs from his left shoulder blade to his lower back. 

“How did this happen?” Charlie asks softly, taking bandages from the first aid kit in her saddlebag. The wound is deep enough to require stitches, but that will have to be done when they make camp tonight. The group can’t afford to sit out in the open for too long. For now, they’ll wrap it tightly and be done with it.

“I’d like to know the answer to that question as well.” Concern laces Castiel’s voice. He is holding pressure on the wound, and has managed to slow down the bleeding to a sluggish ooze. “I don’t recall getting into any fights in the forest. Any real ones, anyway.”

“It was that damn thing,” Dean answers after a moment. “The one that was chasing us toward the end. Its- well, I’m assuming they were claws, but who fucking knows- scraped my back while we ran like hell.”

“Something chased you?” Jo asks with a frown. “We saw some pretty freaky things in that forest, but they were all hallucinations, or visions, or something. Nothing real, though.”

“I guess we weren’t so lucky,” Dean mutters.

They wait in silence as Charlie finishes wrapping the wound. Then, she pulls Dean to his feet. He sways a bit, noticing the blood loss for the first time. 

The sun has sunken below the horizon, and only a bit of light makes its way to the small group. Dean hobbles to one of the three remaining horses, hoisting himself onto it with only a bit of difficulty. He hopes his wound won’t begin to bleed again. He doesn’t protest as Castiel mounts behind him, his arms wrapping around Dean as he takes hold of the reins. Dean lets himself lean his weight back into Castiel’s chest, taking comfort in the solid contact.

He notes Sam’s raised eyebrow. “What?” he asks, sitting up slightly straighter. “Our horses got eaten.” Sam shrugs, mounting his own horse and leaving Jo and Charlie to share. With a tap of his heels, they continue their journey further into the Badlands.

Dean turns, craning his head over Castiel’s shoulder to get a peek of what lies behind them. He sees only purple skies and barren wasteland. It’s like the forest has never existed. 

He’s never been so glad about something in his entire life. He faces forward, leaning back into Castiel’s solid warmth, and he can swear that he feels the faerie smile into his hair. Dean lets his eyes drift closed. He doesn’t know what there is between them. He doesn’t know whether it even has a chance of working out. He only knows that it exists, and that it’s enough, for now. 

They have eight days to find Lisa. Eight days to figure it all out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The second Dean’s fingers brush the thorns, a pathway parts before him. Vines curl in on themselves, turning green as thorns become flowers. He watches in amazement as a tunnel forms in front of him.

It takes them another four days to pass through the Badlands. At the border, the monotonous desert slowly fades into green fields and forests. Dean had thought they would have found Lisa hidden away somewhere in the dryness of the Badlands, but the white thread of light that is their guide stretches on, winding over hills and between trees. 

A niggling voice in the back of his head keeps whispering that they won’t make it in time, but he tries to ignore it. Thinking like that won’t get him to Lisa any faster. It turns out he doesn’t have anything to worry about, because they reach the end of the thread with two days to spare.

Relief floods through Dean as they finally near the end of the gleaming white thread, which shoots high into the sky and disappears into the topmost window of a tall tower. The tower in question spirals toward the clouds, the top barely visible as it peeks over the wall of thorns that surrounds it. The noonday sunlight gleams off the shining black stone, making the tower shimmer. 

“Encircled behind thorny gates, the frozen princes ere awaits,” Dean repeats to himself, reining his horse in just in front of the thorn hedge. It surrounds the tower in a wide ring, standing twenty feet tall. Wicked long thorns form a thick, crisscrossing barrier in front of him. ”Almost there, Lisa.”

“Fan out,” he hears Sam telling the others. “Find a way through.”

But that turns out to be unnecessary. The second Dean’s fingers brush the thorns, a pathway parts before him. Vines curl in on themselves, turning green as thorns become flowers. He watches in amazement as a tunnel forms in front of him, leading all the way through to the other side. Without a word, he dismounts his horse and makes his way into the tunnel.

“Dean!” Somebody shouts behind him, but he turns just as the tunnel begins to close itself behind him, shrinking shut as the vines pull themselves back together. Jo is the closest. She dives through the shrinking hole, landing on her feet. Dean tries to grab the edges and keep it open, but at this point it’s only a few feet wide. He strains, holding the vines at bay. They lash at him, wrapping around his wrists and firmly trying to tug him away. 

“I can’t hold it!” he shouts, his fingers slipping. Jo joins him, holding the other side, but the whipping vines catch her in the cheek, pushing her roughly away. Just as his hands slip free of the vines, Castiel dives through. His wings are folded against his back, streamlining him as he tucks and rolls. He stands swiftly, intending to help them, but it’s too late. The tunnel has closed behind him. 

“Charlie! Sam!” Jo shouts, pulling out her knife. She frantically saws at the vines, but they just grow back as quickly as she cuts them. After a moment, Castiel steps forward and places a hand on her arm.

Dean hears Charlie’s muffled shout from the other side of the hedge. She sounds shaken. “Are you guys okay?” 

He cups his hands around his mouth. “We’re fine! Just stay there, guys. We’ll be back out with Lisa in a second.” 

“Alright! Just be careful!”

Dean takes point position, the other two flanking his right and left sides. The three make their way out of the tunnel, their weapons warily drawn. They suddenly emerge onto a large green lawn. Empty. No guards lurking anywhere. It will be easier to rescue Lisa than he had thought. The tower sits in the very middle. Blood drips from the cut on Jo’s cheek, and she swipes at it with a sleeve. They’re almost there. 

An open door awaits them at the base of the tower. Dean can see the bottom of stone spiral steps through the open door, leading upward. Presumably toward Lisa. He starts toward them, but Castiel stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Something isn’t right here, Dean,” he mutters. “Can’t you feel it?”

“It’s too easy,” Jo whispers. She raises her sword slightly, her fingers tightening on the hilt. “You think we can just waltz through the open front door, grab Lisa, and waltz back out? There’s gotta be a catch somewhere.”

“It’s not just that.” Castiel stares into the distance. At first, Dean thinks he’s spotted something and tries to follow his gaze. After a moment, he realizes that the faerie is concentrating. Castiel’s brow is furrowed as he takes deep breaths.

Dean interrupts whatever he’s doing after a minute or two. “Nothing is happening, Cas.”

“Exactly.” Castiel stands up straight, staring him in the eye with a grave expression. “Nothing is happening. My magyk isn’t working.”

“What?” Jo exclaims. “How is that possible?”

“Ever since we crossed through the thorns, I haven’t been able to feel my magyk. There’s something oppressing it, something powerful. Just… be careful.”

Dean snorts, letting his sarcasm mask the terror that he feels at this. “Peachy. Thanks for the advice.” Still, he understands what they are saying. It shouldn’t be this easy. They may very well be walking into a trap. Dean feels the first stirrings of uneasiness in his stomach as they make their way into the tower.

Torches sputter to life as they climb the spiral staircase. Dean leads the way, tensed and ready for anything that could be waiting for them just out of sight around the corner. They climb, higher and higher into the sky until Dean’s legs are burning and his breath comes unevenly. Their shadows dance on the walls, the flickering torchlight making them stretch into strange shapes. A strange presence seems to inhabit the stairwell. 

Dean gets the eerie sensation that he’s being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck rise, but no one is in the stairwell with them. No one that they can see, anyway. He keeps turning, staring down into the darkness behind him as if he will somehow catch something sneaking up behind him. Nothing.

He’s being paranoid. Dean tries to shake the feeling off, but he can’t quite get rid of it. It sticks in the back of his mind, making his fingers twitch. 

They finally reach the top of the staircase. A thick wooden door blocks the way to the top, but it swings open just as Dean reaches out to give it a push. The weirdness of this doesn’t faze him. He doesn’t stop, just pushes his way through into a dimly lit bedroom.

Purple curtains have been drawn over the windows, so the noonday sun has to force its way into the room through gaps in the cloth. The only thing in the room is a giant canopy bed, inhabiting the majority of the space. Dean walks to it and draws back the curtains.

Lisa sleeps peacefully on the bed. She lies on her back, hair artfully arranged on the pillow around her. Someone has removed the nightgown she had been wearing on the day she had disappeared, and replaced it with a flowing, wine dark ball gown that would be the envy of the ladies back at court. Her hands are folded over her stomach, holding a white rose.

…Lone antidote is true love’s kiss…

Dean glances at Castiel. He thinks he sees a flash of something on the faerie’s face, something that looks suspiciously like pain, but then it is gone. He looks straight into Dean’s eyes, nodding once. Dean lets his gaze fall. His stomach is twisting at the thought of Castiel, in the room with him as he kisses another. His fiancée. The woman he is supposed to love. The woman he thought he had loved, at least until he had met Castiel and discovered what love really felt like.

Love.

He loves Castiel.

The thought shocks him. And it’s in that moment that he’s sure he won’t be able to wake up Lisa. 

His gaze falls onto the sleeping woman. She looks almost girlish, her expression smooth and peaceful. He feels a surge of affection for her. He loves Lisa like a friend, like a sister even. Hopefully it will be enough. As long as his feelings are true, right? They have known each other since childhood, and have remained friends until even now. He sure hadn’t been faking that.

Please work. He leans down slowly, watching the rise and fall of Lisa’s chest as she sleeps. He closes his eyes. His lips press softly against hers, soft and warm. Wake up, please, wake up.

He pulls back and searches her face, hoping for something, anything. 

She remains peacefully asleep.

…But ardor’s indifference is evil’s bliss…

They all stare, motionless. The silence is heavy around them, marking time with a sense of failure.

“I knew it,” Jo murmurs all of a sudden, her eyes alight. She whirls on Castiel, jabbing a finger at him. He stumbles backward in surprise. “You two… I fucking knew it! We all did! You’re together! I mean, could you two be any more obvious? And normally I would be okay with it, happy even, but god, did you even think about the consequences? How the hell are we gonna wake her up?”

She rounds on Dean, pointing to Lisa, and there are tears in her eyes. “She’s my friend too, Dean. She’s my friend too.”

Overwhelming guilt floods his body, forcing his knees to buckle. Dean falls heavily onto his knees, still staring at Lisa. Oh god. What the hell are they going to do? They only have today and tomorrow to figure this out. How will they save her?

In their shock, nobody notices as the door quietly drifts shut and locks with a click. 

Somebody laughs. Somebody that isn’t Dean, Jo, or Castiel. The laughter drifts through the tower, amplifying as it travels, until it fills the uppermost room of the tower.

They snap out of their stupor in a heartbeat, quickly forming a protective half-circle around Lisa’s bed. The prickling sensation on the back of Dean’s neck intensifies, the same one that he had felt earlier in the stairwell. The others can sense it too, an ominous presence that grows and grows until its dark shadow fills the room from floor to ceiling.

“We need to leave,” Castiel says.

“Too late, darlings.” A woman’s voice fills the room, strong and melodious and evil. A wind picks up in the room, faster and faster in a whirlwind, whipping the drapes in frantic circles. Dean squints his eyes against the dust that is swirling up from the floorboards, trying to make out a dark shape that is slowly materializing in the center of the whirlwind. 

Her laughter is only getting louder, bouncing off the walls until Dean wants to sink to his knees and cover his ears. He grimaces, squinting into the miniature maelstrom as it begins to die down.

A figure stands there. She is robed in black, the dark material clinging to her bony shape. Her face is pale and sharp, with high cheekbones and severe red lips that curl upwards at the corners. She holds a gnarled black staff in one hand. A raven perches atop it, harsh caws grinding past its throat every once in a while. Its beady red eyes bore into Dean, seeming to see his darkest secrets as plain as the light of day. But the most unsettling thing about this woman is the pair of large, bat-like wings that claw their way from her back. She stretches them out wide, and they fill the entire room, casting a dark shadow over the companions. Dean takes a shaky breath, almost stepping backwards despite himself. They are royally screwed.

If he hadn’t known before, the wings would have confirmed it. This is Andais herself, Queen of Air and Darkness and ruler of the Unseelie Court. (Dean’s slightly more familiar with her as “that fucking bat-winged bitch”, but he has no plans to mention this anytime soon.) She brings her staff down hard onto the hard stone floor, and the wind dies immediately. 

“You’ll have to excuse me, but I do love a dramatic entrance,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she sizes the three of them up. She doesn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry, but Dean is about to change that.

He forces his legs to move, though they feel as clumsy as lead bricks. He rests the tip of his sword at Andais’s throat. “Listen up,” Dean forces out through a fear-clogged throat. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Let us leave with the princess.”

Unsurprisingly, she only begins to laugh again. “Oh dear,” she cackles. “That won’t do at all. You see, I need her. And you have something I need as well.” Her hand gestures, and suddenly Dean’s arm is out of his control. It deftly re-sheathes his sword, then falls back to his side. No matter how hard he struggles, he can’t seem to make it move. They are so fucking screwed.

“Stop it!” Jo shouts at her. The bitch’s attention shifts away from Dean.

“What have we here?” She glides toward Jo, her leathery wings folding into place behind her back. Jo keeps her face defiant as she raises her sword, but Dean can see the fear behind her eyes. Yet he can do nothing as Andais flicks her fingers, sending Jo’s sword flying into the wall where it buries itself almost to the hilt. She walks up to Jo, who is now just as motionless as Dean. 

A bony finger trails across Jo’s cheek. “Hmmm…” Andais murmurs, her eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not the one.”

She moves on to Castiel. The faerie is still and silent, his face impassive as he glares back at Andais. She walks right up to him, a finger tapping her mouth as she smirks. She slowly reaches out, placing her cupped hand onto Castiel’s cheek, and everything in Dean’s body screams no! He struggles against the magyk bonds that keep him still, but it’s like beating his head against a brick wall. Useless and painful. 

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Dean growls angrily. 

Andais only raises an eyebrow. “You must be him, then. Interesting.” She circles Castiel, her eyes roaming all over him in a critical way. “You’re the one Dean gave his mind, body, and soul to. I wouldn’t have expected it. You’re a faerie, after all, and everyone knows that Prince Dean Winchester hates the creatures that killed his mother.” A hand comes up and brushes those gossamer blue wings, making Dean quiver with anger.

Castiel speaks for the first time since they’ve entered the room. “You don’t know Dean. Not like I do.”

“Oh. You really think that, don’t you? Interesting.” She taps her finger on her cruel lips, stepping backward until she has a view of the whole room. It is only now that Dean has noticed how dark it has gotten. It can’t be nightfall yet, they’ve only been in the tower for an hour or so. 

“What the hell?” He says, his eyes darting to the light streaming in through the cracks in drapes. If the sun is still up, why is it getting so damn dark? “What’s going on?”

“Don’t concern yourself with it, darling. It’s just a little spellcasting.”

“What?”

She sighs, getting rather impatient with him. “If you must know, I’m raising an army to annihilate your little kingdom, and this spell will allow that to happen. I had my little minions gather most of the components for me.” She ticks them off with her fingers, her eyes raised upward as she recalls the information. “Dust from a graveyard, lamb’s blood, heart of a pregnant woman… well, the list goes on, but the point is that they’re all relatively easy to obtain. There were a few things on the list that were a little harder to get, but I think I’ve got it all together.”

“And what were those?” Castiel asks. His voice is wary and strained, and Dean hopes that he’s trying to use his magyk to escape these bonds. Then he remembers what the faerie had said in the courtyard. ‘My magyk isn’t working… there’s something oppressing it, something powerful…” God, they had been so stupid!

“You, of course. And her.” Andais grins. “Just the basics for solidifying a Starving One. A tortured princess, and the object of a prince’s true love. Sometimes you get two for one, but I had to be sure. Princes can be fickle, you know, so who knows whether they truly love the princesses they’re supposed to marry.” She pauses, looking too pleased with herself for Dean’s comfort. A sly grin appears on her face, and she locks eyes with Dean. “That’s why I cast a spell on that spindle.”

“You what?” Dean’s head is whirling as he takes in all this information. A Starving One… the name sounds familiar. Dean thinks back to the whispered conversation he had heard at the castle, and suddenly it clicks. She is raising it for her army.

“You’re going to love this, beautiful.” She takes Dean’s face in her hand, squeezing his cheeks, and he can feel her razor sharp nails leaving marks in his skin. “Only your one true love would be able to activate the spindle. That way, I didn’t have to search the entire kingdom for the final component of my spell. You brought him right to me!” She claps, releasing Dean’s face. “Sometimes, I impress even myself.”

He shoots a horrified glance at Castiel. The faerie is outwardly impassive, but Dean notes his clenched fist and slightly trembling wings. “Cas…” he says, panic filling him at the thought of any harm coming to Castiel. “Shit, I’m sorry. This is my fault…”

“You didn’t know, Dean.” Castiel meets his eyes. “We’ll find a way out of this. Don’t blame yourself.”

Andais laughs, loud and long and mocking. “Sorry, darling, but I’m afraid this is the end of the line for all of you. The spell is almost complete, and he’s coming. Can’t you feel him?”

Dean can. Pressure is building in the room, pressing in on them until spots begin to swim before his eyes. The room keeps getting darker and darker as the pressure increases, bringing with it an ominous presence.

He desperately stalls for time, trying frantically to think of a way out of this mess. “What I don’t get is why you need a “Starving One”, or whatever the hell they’re called. If you’re so powerful, why don’t you take out the Five Kingdoms yourself?” He forces a smirk, eyeing her up and down, and even though he knows that snarking off to someone who can kill him with a snap of her fingers a bad idea, he just can’t help himself. “After all, that worked out so well for you the first time.”

Her smile turns sour in a heartbeat. “Because,” she snarls, and her face darkens into a cruel sneer. In this moment, she is every bit the monster that all the stories describe, an inhuman, terrible thing that steals children in the dead of night. “Not even your precious Seelie can stand up to a Starving One. It will rend your whole kingdom into tatters, and everyone you love along with it. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

She grins. “First, you’re going to watch your precious princess and your little faerie die. Slowly, so I can enjoy it. Then, I’ll kill the girl, just because. Maybe I’ll keep you alive, because you’re cute and I like your spunk.” She winks at him, brushing a finger along his cheekbone, and Dean has to force down nausea. They have to get out of here. “Then,” she continues, “you’ll have the privilege of watching everything you know and love burn.” 

He struggles as the pressure grows in the room. It’s now so dark that Dean can barely see ten feet in front of his face. He can’t break free of Andais’s magical restraints, no matter how hard he strains his muscles and focuses his mind. Nothing. There’s nothing he can do. If they’re all going to die, right here and right now, he has to say something. He can’t die with these words unsaid. 

Dean’s voice is choked with tears, his vision blurring no matter how hard he wills his eyes to remain dry. “Cas… I’m so sorry. About all of this. And I never got a chance to tell you what I wanted to, what I should have told you, so I might as well say it now. Since we’re gonna die and everything.” 

He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes fall shut. “I love you, Cas. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop it,” Castiel snarls, and Dean’s eyes snap open in surprise. The faerie’s voice is full of rage. “We are not going to die here, you understand me? We’re going to get out, and you’re going to say that again and again to me because this is not how we die! Do you hear me?”

Andais seems to think their exchange is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, because she throws her head back and begins to laugh once again.

Her mocking laughs only fuel his fire. Dean has to try harder. For Castiel. He renews his struggles, the pressure building in the room when Jo suddenly lets out a strangled cry behind him. As her lean body brushes past him, running full tilt toward Andais, he stares at the blood dripping from her shoulder, welling from a crescent shaped bite mark.

She had bitten herself, used the pain to focus and free herself of Andais’s bonds. Her blonde hair streaks behind her as she runs, and all the evil faerie has time to do is stare in shock as Jo tackles her to the ground. Her staff goes flying across the room, clattering onto the floor as the crow takes flight with a squawk. And suddenly her hold on them is broken. Dean can move again.

“Run! Take Lisa and run!” Jo yells, taking her dagger from her weapons belt and plunging it into the soft flesh of Andais’s throat. The faerie queen screams, clawing at her throat. Blood runs down her fingers. That should slow her down.

He turns toward Lisa, but Castiel has beaten him to it. The faerie holds the sleeping princess in his arms, ready to escape. Dean runs to the door, desperately shaking the handle, but it is locked. The dark presence in the room has reached its peak. Pressure builds until Dean feels like he is about to explode, and a large hazy shadow begins to materialize in one corner of the room. Fog billows around it, or out of it, or both. It covers almost the whole wall, looming over them all. If the Starving One materializes, it will all be over.

He kicks the door, over and over and over until it buckles and breaks under his barrage. He ushers Castiel past him, down the spiraling stone staircase as the dark haze in the corner begins to solidify into a large, terrifying creature that Dean can’t even begin to describe. A talon steps out of the dark fog, and sharp claws longer than Dean’s forearm click click click on the stone floor. 

“Cas, go! Get out of here, find somewhere safe and stay there!” he shouts. Then he turns back to the room, without checking to see if the faerie has obeyed his instructions. “Jo! Come on! Come on!” He holds the damaged door open, waiting, but she doesn’t come. She plunges her dagger once again into the bloodied face of the Unseelie Queen. Andais reaches a clawlike hand up, throwing Jo against the wall with a swipe of her arm. 

Dean starts forward, ready to fight, but Jo shakes her head. She is suspended against the wall, clawing at her throat as Andais hacks and coughs and begins to rise off the floor. 

“Go, Dean,” Jo chokes out, waving her arm jerkily. “Too powerful… I’ll hold them off…”

“I’m not leaving you!” he shouts, unsheathing his sword and starting toward Andais, but the Starving One lets out an unearthly, guttural shriek as it starts toward him. Its dark, hulking mass shakes the floors as it steps lithely toward him. The thing is terrifying enough as it is- he can’t imagine how powerful this creature will be once Andais completes the spell. He has to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Dean turns toward the dark creature, ready to rescue his friend or die trying. Jo screams at him through her constricted throat, her legs dangling as she tries desperately to free herself. “Lisa needs you, Dean! Castiel… Castiel needs you! Go! I’ll be… I’ll be fine,” she lies, smiling at him through her tears. 

“No way in hell, I’m not-,” he begins to shout, just as a talon emerges from the shapeless mass that is the Starving One, whipping around the room. He barely has time to react before it pierces Jo through the stomach, burying itself deep into her flesh. She lets out a soundless cry as it rips her from the wall, pulling her into the dark swirling cloud that revolves around it. And just like that, Jo is gone.

…In total, journeyers be five  
But four of these return alive…

He stares in openmouthed shock for only a moment before forcing himself to turn away. There’s nothing he can do about it now. All he can do is to try and keep the others safe. He has to protect them, for now.

He will avenge Jo’s death. Just not here. Just not now.

Castiel’s strong voice echoes up the stairwell from a few floors down. “Dean! Jo! Let’s move!”

“Coming!” He turns, leaving the slow-moving creature and the bloodied faerie behind him as he clatters down the stairs, taking them two, then three at a time. In a much shorter time than it had taken him to climb them, he is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking through the archway into the green courtyard. Castiel stands by the thorn hedge, waiting with Lisa in his arms. Dean runs toward the hedge, brushing his outstretched fingers against a vine and letting the tunnel form in front of them again. 

“Jo?” Castiel asks, with a note of uncertainty in his voice. Dean just shakes his head no. He can’t talk about it, not now. Cas gives him an understanding look, but even that is too much. He turns his gaze to the ground, waiting as the tunnel unfolds in front of them.

Dark fog billows out of the windows of the topmost tower, roiling down the stairs and out the door. It rolls onto the lawn, coming quickly toward them, and the creature inside of it bellows angrily just as they escape through the tunnel of thorns. Andais calls after them, her voice booming through the courtyard and down the long tunnel that has opened up for them. “You can run, you can hide, but I’ll find you! Ready or not, here I come!” 

They race faster, bursting through the end of the tunnel and onto the opposite side of the thorn hedge. Sam and Charlie are sitting on the ground talking quietly, but they stand quickly as they see their companions fleeing from the hedge. 

“You got Lisa!” Sam exclaims, just as Charlie, craning her head to look behind them, asks, “Where’s Jo?”

“Just run!” Dean pushes them toward the forest, but Charlie resists. “No! We can’t leave Jo! We can’t…” she looks into Dean’s eyes, shaking her head, as if she doesn’t want to hear the truth. Dean’s face says it all. He stares at Charlie with an apology written all over his expression, a testament to the fact that he had failed her. The fact that he had failed all of them. He couldn’t save Jo. He couldn’t wake up Lisa. He had led Castiel right into danger without a second thought. He had dragged Sam and Charlie along on this whole fucked up adventure, and at the end, they hadn’t even been able to do what they had come for. 

Dean’s hands are shaking as he lets them fall to his sides. Charlie’s eyes well with tears, and for a moment they mourn the loss of their friend. But even that moment is one that they don’t have. A guttural, inhuman cry sounds from behind the hedge, racing closer and closer toward them. Black fog spills from the gaps between the thorns, roiling toward the small group.

Castiel yells. “We can talk later! Run for the forest!” Hoisting Lisa higher up in his arms, he runs toward the leafy trees that make up most of the area. Everyone else follows. Castiel’s wings flutter as he sprints, giving him the extra speed that lets him outpace the others, even carrying a load as heavy as Lisa. Then Dean remembers the way he had torn that barn door off of its hinges with apparently no effort, so maybe carrying her isn’t such a problem after all.

They run through the trees, stumbling on uneven ground and pushing branches out of the way. Dean almost trips once as he steps into an unexpected dip in the earth, but he recovers quickly and presses on. They seem to run on for hours, letting the terrible howling of the creature fade away behind them. Dean focuses on the ragged breath of his companions, drowning out all other sounds and trying to clear his mind. Keep away the memory of Jo’s last moments, her watery smile, her soundless scream, her-

Stop. Just run. Let the air fill your lungs and let your muscles burn with exhaustion. Anything to keep any thoughts of Jo from his mind. Dean ducks a branch, following Castiel’s lead as they flee through the woods.

Eventually, they stumble into a small clearing. Panting, they come to a halt, listening for any signs of pursuit. The forest murmurs softly, sounds of life rustling from tree to tree, but they don’t hear any signs of Andais or the Starving One pursuing them. 

Castiel turns toward them, still holding the sleeping princess in his arms. The hem of her once pristine dress has been dragged along the forest floor, gathering leaves and dirt as it went. She looks peaceful, her head lolling back and her mouth softly closed as she sleeps on, seemingly unaware of anything going on around her. 

“We should keep walking,” Castiel says. He isn’t out of breath at all, talking as calmly as if he had just come from a good night’s sleep in a featherbed. Dean sees right through the act, of course- Cas is shaken, but for their sake, he is trying to be strong. Dean vows to do the same. 

Castiel continues. “Conserving our strength is the best idea at the moment, but we also need to put as much distance between us and them as we can.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam gasps, his hands on his knees as he sucks in air greedily. 

They stand for a few minutes, catching their breath and letting themselves recover from their frantic escape. Dean focuses on his breathing, trying to keep his mind clear, but horrible images from the tower keep coming back to him. Andais stroking Castiel’s wings like some sort of predator. Blood dribbling from Jo’s mouth as she is ripped from the wall. Nightmarish talons emerging from a black fog. 

Oh well. It’s just another thing to add to his ever growing list of nightmare material.

“We left the horses, didn’t we?” Charlie says suddenly, looking back in the direction that they’ve just come from as if she would somehow be able to see them. “Poor things.”

“Poor us, you mean. Walking sucks ass,” Dean jokes, but Charlie just glares at him.

“Not funny, Dean.”

“Sorry,” he says, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Humor is my fallback when I’m stressed, okay? There’s just… a lot going on.” 

“We’ll talk about it when we make camp tonight, alright?” Castiel says. “Let’s get moving. We need to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall.” He turns and disappears into the trees, forcing the others to follow.

They walk for hours, only stopping for short rests, and once to fill up their water skins at a clear stream. They switch off carrying Lisa (even though Castiel insists that he wants to do it the whole time), taking hour long shifts. Charlie surprises everyone by carrying the sleeping princess for her whole shift, refusing to hand her over to Sam for even a short while. Her arms shake the whole time as sweat soaks her hair and clothes, but she refuses to let go. Dean has always admired the stubborn aspect of Charlie, no matter how frustrating it could be at times.

They finally make camp at nightfall. Sam deems it safe to build a fire, since the dense trees around them and the gathering darkness will easily conceal any smoke or light. While they set up camp, clearing away any sticks and rocks and gathering dry leaves to sleep on (since most of their supplies had been with the horses), Castiel disappears into the forest. He returns half an hour later with a belt of fresh rabbits, each one cleanly shot through the eye. Jo skins them while Dean builds the fire, and soon they have a pretty decent meal going. Sam lies Lisa on a soft bed of leaves, making sure she is comfortable before joining the rest around the fire.

Most of this is done in silence. Only when they are all sitting in a circle, eating gratefully, does Sam speak.

“I think both Charlie and I want to know what happened in there,” he says. “Back at the tower.” Charlie nods her agreement.

So Dean explains, with occasional interjections or corrections from Castiel. He tells them everything, about not being able to wake Lisa up, about the Starving One, about Andais and her plan to destroy the Five Kingdoms, and how she needs Lisa and Castiel to do it.

“But I don’t understand,” Sam says. “Why does she need Cas specifically? If she needed a faerie, she could have kidnapped one from the castle. There are plenty of faeries there.”

“It’s not… not because he’s a faerie,” Dean says, glancing at Castiel. His cheeks are pink in the firelight, but he doesn’t look away. He meets Dean’s eyes, and nods. They aren’t going to keep this secret any longer. “She needs him for a different reason.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. He looks concerned, his eyes darting back and forth between Dean and Castiel.

“I mean…” he begins to say, but he can’t say it. After all that they’ve been through, even after knowing he loves Castiel, he still can’t bring himself to voice it. He sits in silence, his words stuck in his throat, as Sam and Charlie look at him expectantly. Finally, Castiel stands, coming to sit at Dean’s side. Dean leans into him slightly, letting the weight of the faerie comfort him. 

Castiel does what Dean can’t. “Andais cast a spell on the spindle,” he explains. “Not just a spell to find Lisa, but something else. It-,” and here he pauses, checking with Dean one more time to make sure it’s alright. Dean nods, and Castiel continues. “It could only be used by Dean’s one true love.”

“So that means…” Charlie says, staring at the faerie. “That’s you.” She doesn’t sound very surprised. 

“Why would she do that?” Sam asks. He doesn’t seemed to be very fazed, though Dean had fully expected him to… well, he doesn’t know. Yell? Rant about not being able to wake Lisa, how this is all his fault, something, anything. 

Castiel begins to talk again, but Dean interrupts him. “Wait just a goddamn second, Sammy. Aren’t you… I don’t know, mad, or something? You don’t even look surprised!”

“Well, you two made it pretty obvious that you’ve got the hots for each other,” Charlie chimes in helpfully. Dean feels himself growing warm, and he steadfastly doesn’t look at Sam. Then, surprisingly, he hears his brother laugh. It’s only a small laugh, maybe tinged with a little sadness, but it seems to be genuine rather than mocking. Dean looks up in surprise.

Sam looks at him from across the dying campfire, a small grin plastered on his face. “I’ve always known that you weren’t exactly madly in love with Lisa, Dean. I’m not an idiot. I mean, you guys were friends, but she might as well have been your sister. You’d go through any lengths to keep her safe, but you don’t feel like that for her. She always knew too, even if you didn’t. But she got over it eventually.”

Dean feels like his whole world has been turned upside down. He looks at Sam in shock, trying to take in everything his brother had just said. Lisa had known? Sam had known? Had he been that obvious? Even Dean himself hasn’t really realized he didn’t feel true love for Lisa until he had met Cas, and even then, it had taken a while for him to admit his feelings. Did they really know him that well?

His mouth seems to be out of his control, words tumbling out of it that he had never meant to say out loud. “I just… feel awful. About all of it.” And suddenly all of Dean’s fears and doubts are pouring out of him, things that have been troubling him ever since that first kiss, things that he never thought he would tell Charlie or his brother or even Castiel. “I’m betrothed to Lisa. I have a duty to her. I’ve already been promised to her. Loving Castiel... well, it’s something I wasn’t able to help. Falling in love with him was as involuntary as… I don’t know, breathing.”

At this, he feels the faerie’s breath hitch, and he moves on quickly, slightly embarrassed at his involuntary display of emotion. “But it feels like I’m betraying her. I’m torn in two directions, and I don’t know which way to go. And it’s my fault that we couldn’t wake up Lisa.”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s thigh. “Dean. You need to stop blaming yourself. This was Andais’s plan all along. Even the prophecy said that it couldn’t happen with true love’s kiss. We’ll find another way.” 

At this moment, Dean desperately wants to kiss him. To melt into Castiel, feel his long, delicate fingers cupping his cheek, to let him chase away all of Dean’s fears and doubts and questions. He wants to escape to heaven with his faerie, if only for a little while. But with Sam and Charlie sitting not three feet in front of him, he has to settle with grabbing Castiel’s hand and threading their fingers together.

He feels Castiel’s hand squeeze slightly, comforting him as Charlie speaks. “That’s all fine and dandy, but you never answered Sam’s question from earlier. What does that evil bitch want with Castiel?”

Dean clears his throat. “She said something about needing… a prince’s, ah, one true love.” He feels his face growing warmer, and he clears his throat again. “You know, as part of the spell. To raise the Starving One. For her army.”

“What the hell even is a Starving One?” Sam asks, furrowing his brows together. “I’ve never even heard the name.”

“They’re ancient creatures. I haven’t heard mention of the name in centuries. I thought they were a myth, at least until I saw one in front of me today.” Castiel shudders, and Dean squeezes his hand comfortingly. “If it reaches full power, the whole kingdom is doomed. Maybe even the whole world.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Charlie holds up her hands. “Are you telling me that the fate of the world rests in our hands?” When Castiel nods hesitantly, she lets out a tiny whoop. Dean doesn’t expect the huge grin that spreads across her face. “Dude, that’s so cool. We’re like… like superheroes! I mean…” she sobers up quickly at Castiel’s solemn look, doing her best to adopt one of her own. “This is something we should take very seriously.”

“How the hell are we going to defeat it?” Dean asks, letting incredulousness saturate his voice. “I mean, Charlie, you never saw this thing. It killed Jo without breaking a sweat, and it’s not even fully charged yet.”

They all sober up at mention of Jo. They haven’t talked about her since this afternoon, and they let quiet fall over their campsite as they think about her. 

“There may be something,” Castiel murmurs out of the silence. “I’ve heard of a spell that will enable me to bind powerful creatures, even kill them if it’s done right. I could do Andais and the Starving One at the same time, if I can get close enough.” Castiel is nodding, staring into the dying embers as he tries to recall the spell. 

Sam chimes in. “Once Andais is dead, her hold on Lisa should be broken! We’ll kill two birds with one stone!”

“Cas, that’s great!” Dean can finally see a glimmer of hope. “Why didn’t you mention it before?” 

Suddenly, Castiel looks gravely up at him. “This spell… requires me to be much more powerful than I already am. I would need to bind with a human vessel, use their soul to fuel my own magyk. It’s very dangerous for the human. They usually end up dead.” 

A stunned silence falls over the group. Castiel stares into the fire, not looking at any of them. He clearly doesn’t want to ask that of anyone. They’ve all become close over their journey, and the thought of anyone else dying is enough to turn Dean’s stomach. Then, he hears something that makes his blood turn to ice. 

“I’ll do it,” Sam says, raising his hand. Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Charlie beats him to it. 

“No way in hell, dude!” she says vehemently. “I’m the expendable one here. You two are princes, the kingdom needs you. I’m just a knight. I’ll do it.”

“Charlie,” Dean says firmly, “if you think I’m going to let you do that, you’re insane.”

“Just try and stop me,” she says, but Dean is serious about this.

“I’m going to do it.” At their protests, Dean raises a hand, talking over them. “Look, I got Jo killed, okay? Don’t argue. She died trying to save my sorry ass, and I’m not going to let anyone else die for me. You got that?”

He turns to Cas. The faerie is shaking his head, and Dean is shocked to see tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “Dean, you can’t…” he murmurs halfheartedly, but even he can see that Dean’s mind is made up. 

He takes Castiel's face in his hands, brushing a cheek with his thumb. “Look, Cas… I’m really sorry, about everything. But it has to be me.”

“No, Dean. It… I don’t understand. You can’t just keep trying to sacrifice yourself for everyone else.”

“Why not?” Dean leans in, pressing his forehead against the faerie’s. And suddenly, he doesn’t care that the others are watching. He lets their breath mingle, sharing the same air. “If Jo can do it, I can too. And anyway, maybe I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. Dean, I don’t think you understand. Binding with a faerie is a painful thing. I’m going to be using your soul to fuel my magyk, and it’s very likely that I will destroy it if I’m not careful enough. I’ve never done this before, Dean, I don’t know what I’m doing. I could hurt you. I could kill you…” he trails off, obviously holding back tears. 

Dean is shaken. If Castiel is crying, then Dean knows he’s as good as dead. Still, he has to do this. “My soul’s already doomed anyway. You know that. The demon deal, remember?” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before meeting Castiel’s watery blue gaze. “Don’t worry about me, Cas. I’ll be fine.”

Castiel closes the distance between them. His kiss is needy and desperate, their lips meshing together as the faerie threads a hand through his hair. Castiel’s lips taste salty, and he tries to brush away the faerie’s tears. Dean isn’t going to think about this decision too much. If it even has the slightest chance of working, it’s a risk he’ll have to take. With every pull and take of his lips, he tries to communicate what he can’t bring himself to say out loud. I love you, Castiel. I love you, I love you, I love you.

They pull away after a minute or so, and Dean straightens. Charlie and Sam have politely averted their eyes, but they look at him as he speaks.

“So what’s the plan?”

They discuss what they’re going to do late into the hours of the night, laying out and going over every possibility. Only when Sam is satisfied with the details do they wrap things up.

“Alright then,” Dean says, looking at the exhausted faces all around him. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’re going to kick ass.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Through all of the friends and family Castiel has outlived, he can tell this death will hurt him the most.

They’ve been walking for most of the morning in the direction of the tower. Castiel walks in silence on Dean’s left, their fingers occasionally brushing as they go. His stomach is jittery with nerves, twisting and fluttery and suddenly he’s glad he didn’t eat anything this morning. Instead, he had gotten up at while it was still dark outside. He hadn’t slept at all, busy thinking about the next day and the plan and Dean, so most of the night had been spent listening to the quiet snores of his companions. 

He had been surprised when he had arisen before dawn, only to find Dean awake too. His brain had been too loud to get any sort of sleep, the prince had said.

Then, they had moved a little ways off from the rest of the group, and Castiel had spent his final few hours with Dean in his arms, memorizing every plane of his face and sloping curve of his body. Whispers of sweet nothings filled the space around them as they touched, just soaking each other in. The phantom brush of fingers across his face and down his ribs and along his wings still lingers. 

Castiel had wanted those final moments to last forever. Of course, the sun had risen, and with every passing moment as the sky had grown lighter, Castiel hated the sun more and more. If only it would have stayed under the horizon, drawing out the stillness before morning to an eternity. The sun’s light filters now through the canopy of leafy, overhanging branches. 

If all goes to plan, today will bring yet another loss to Castiel’s life. Dean will probably die today. And he’ll be the one to end it.

The thought makes him want to vomit. His fingers clench, and suddenly he reaches out and grabs Dean’s hand tightly. The prince gives him a look- sadness and reassurance and love turning his expression incredibly soft. This is too much. He squeezes Dean’s fingers tightly, wanting to say something, but not knowing exactly what. Their silence hangs heavy in the air. Castiel just knows that he doesn’t want to let go. In this moment, he doesn’t care how important Dean’s sacrifice is. He doesn’t care that the world will go to shit, as selfish as that sounds, if they don’t take down Andais and her pet. He just wants Dean. 

But the prince has made up his mind, and there’s no one more stubborn than Dean Winchester when that happens.

Through all of the friends and family Castiel has outlived, he can tell this death will hurt him the most. He feels a lump growing in his throat, and he swallows hard.

Dean’s face is set. Determination fills his eyes, pure resolve to do what he needs to in order to save the people he loves. This has always been a quality that Castiel has admired about him, but right now he just wants the prince to change his mind, to turn to him and say that it was all a big joke and he’s not going to sacrifice himself after all. 

After a moment, Dean gives him a sad smile, wordlessly leaning in to press a chaste kiss on his lips. The night before, the prince had been seemingly optimistic about his chances of survival, reassuring Castiel over and over again that he would be fine.

They both knew he had been lying to Castiel, and maybe even to himself. In the flickering firelight, those reassurances seemed more believable, but in the harsh light of day they are as flimsy as paper. There is a certain finality to this kiss, one that is a definitive goodbye. And it is over all too soon. 

“Are you coming, guys?” Sam calls from some ways in front of them.

“Yeah.” Dean sounds strange, his voice rough and clipped. “Let’s do this.”

They have hidden Lisa far back in the forest, with Charlie as a guard. It was Sam’s idea to leave her behind: besides keeping her from further danger, it will make sure that Andais doesn’t have immediate access to everything she needs to complete her spell. On top of that, not having a body to drag around with them will make them less cumbersome. Dean had left Charlie with instructions to take the princess and make the trip back to Eridor alone if they don’t return by the next afternoon. 

With that, the three of them had set out. Sam walks ahead, making strained small talk and feeble attempts at jokes, and suddenly Castiel realizes that Sam must be hurting too. His only brother is about to sacrifice himself for the good of the world, the brother that Sam has looked up to his entire life. He seems to be handling himself rather well, considering the circumstances, but he is sure that none of them are looking forward to this final encounter.

Everything is eerily quiet as they finally approach the tower. Castiel peeks through the thinning trees, the stillness of the clearing unnatural in comparison to the events of the day before. The peaceful quiet feels wrong. There’s something off about this whole thing. 

The second Castiel steps out of the forest, an ear splitting bellow pierces the air around him. He watches in horror as a large, dragon-like thing seems to materialize around the tower, slowly uncoiling itself. Its pitch black scales glint in the sunlight as the muscled body winds around the tower. The Starving One looks like something straight out of a nightmare, almost the size of the tower itself. 

“Fuck,” Sam whispers. “Here we go.”

The thing seems to be shrouded in a transparent layer of black fog. Its mouth is a large, uneven gash in the front of his face, and as the Starving One opens its mouth to hiss, rows and rows of long, shark-like teeth glint in the sunlight. Crusted blood rings its nostrils and ruby red eyes, and wicked spines run along the length of its spine. It clings to the tower with sharp talons that gouge into the stone. 

Castiel stares in shock, for a moment forgetting anything but his fear. In the thousand years he had been alive, he had never seen anything like this before. He thinks it can’t get any worse, but then the creature’s neck seems to open itself. It takes Castiel a second to realize that the Starving one has a second mouth, and it tastes the air with another, broader tongue that flicks past rows of sharp teeth. Thick black fog trickles from its throat, tinged with purple and green. 

It stares in their direction, letting out another bellowing howl before beginning its descent toward them.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes beside him. “Cas, we should probably do the spell thing now.”

“I need a direct line of sight,” the faerie says rather breathlessly. His view of the creature’s head has been partially obscured by the tall wall of thorns. They’re going to have to wait for it to come fully into sight. Hopefully it won’t be too late by then. “And where’s Andais? I need to be able to see her if I’m going to take her down, too.”

Just then, a familiar, evil voice booms through the clearing. “Speak of the devil,” Dean mutters, hatred suffusing his words. 

“So glad you could rejoin us, my darlings,” Andais laughs, and Castiel can almost see her self-satisfied smirk. “But I knew you would come back. You just can’t resist me. I understand.”

He whips around, trying to spot the evil crone. After all, she must be watching them from somewhere. He cranes his head toward the sky, squinting, and after a moment he spots her flying about a thirty yards above the tower. Her bony wings beat the air as her robes flutter in the wind. She seems pleased, watching as her slow moving creature makes its way toward the group.

Dean and Sam have drawn their swords. Castiel curses, pulling out his longbow and nocking an arrow to the string. If everything goes to plan, they won’t be fighting this thing hand to hand. An arrow in the eye definitely won’t stop the massive Starving One, but it may slow it down. 

The acrid smell of smoke reaches Castiel’s nose, unnatural and harsh. It takes him a moment to realize that the wall of thorns is burning. As he watches, another jet of flame appears from somewhere behind the wall, setting a new section alight. The flames burn purple and green, reaching higher and higher into the air as the thorn hedge slowly becomes a solid wall of fire.

They form a tight group just as the creature comes slithering through the flames, its beady red eyes fixed on them. Castiel looks at Dean and nods. It’s time to put their plan into action. He feels a wave of calm suddenly sweep over him, just as it always does when he’s about to go into battle. This is it.

Castiel draws his bow, watching as the creature approaches. He breathes, sighting down his arrow. He only has one shot at this.

Thwack! He looses the arrow, and the black shaft buries itself into one of the creature’s beady red eyes. It bellows, whipping its head from side to side as it stops in its tracks.

“Go, Sammy,” he hears Dean say. 

Sam pulls a heavy oaken shield off of his back, securing it around an arm with the leather straps on the back. The creature has recovered at an alarming rate, closing in on the group quickly. Sam forces a grin, gives his brother a tight hug, and sprints away from them. Running parallel to the trees, he begins to shout as loudly as he can. 

“Hey ugly! Yeah, I’m talking to you, you oversized earthworm! Over here! Follow me!” 

The creature stops, suddenly confused. Its one remaining eye follows the movement of Sam, who is shouting all manner of insults. Then, slowly, its gaze drifts back to the motionless Dean and Castiel. Sam just shouts louder, running in zigzags and banging on his shield with his sword in a desperate attempt to attract its attention.

“Come on,” Dean mutters under his breath. “Take the bait, ugly.” Castiel doesn’t dare move, holding silent and still as the creature finally turns and begins lumbering toward Sam.

“Good. He’s distracted. I’m going to need about two minutes to activate the spell.” Castiel glances at Dean. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

Castiel takes a deep breath, nodding firmly. Then he’ll do it. He reaches over, firmly grasping Dean’s hand. He needs a point of contact if this is going to work. Dean’s grip is tight, and though the prince’s gaze never leaves his brother, he squeezes Castiel’s fingers as reassurance. This is what Dean wants.

He lets his eyes fall shut. He needs to cut out all outside input, to focus on this. At first, he takes deep breathes, tuning out the world around him. His only focus is their linked hands, the point of contact between himself and Dean. He lets his focus travel down to the core of him, finding once again the interwoven tangle of magyk at the core of his being. Each thread calls to him, whispers its own story, but he’s looking for a specific one. 

It takes him a few moments to find it. Grasping it gently, he leads it out of his core and down his arm, gently threading it along until it reaches their linked hands. This is the difficult part, the part he has ever only heard about in theory. Castiel gently reaches out with his consciousness, through their point of contact and into Dean, still tugging that thread along with him. 

“Ugh. That’s fucking weird.” He can hear Dean as clear as a bell now, even when the prince is only murmuring to himself. The connection is almost complete. He delves deep into Dean’s consciousness, searching until he feels a glimmer of something.

Sweat is running down Castiel’s face as he concentrates. It takes every bit of strength he has to pull his magyk toward that golden glimmer, as if it is repelling him. His progress is too slow for his liking. He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time he finally makes contact with what he’s looking for, but the effort is worth it. 

Dean’s soul is a radiant golden color. He takes a moment to let himself admire it. As Castiel reaches out with his consciousness to touch it, he can’t help but marvel at how righteous and pure Dean’s soul is. It’s incredible. Only a small part of it is tainted, the ragged edges of a small tear in his soul tinged with grey.

That must be the part that Lilith took. Castiel feels rage boiling up inside him. How dare she defile something so beautiful as this? How dare she touch Dean? 

But then he remembers what he’s about to do. How he’s about to use Dean’s soul to power his own magyk, how he may burn it away to nothing. He hesitates, the strand of his magyk almost, but not quite, touching the golden pool that is the essence of Dean. 

But he has to do it. It’s what Dean wants. Castiel forces himself to close that final distance, and as his white thread of magyk makes contact with the soul a jolt goes through Castiel, powerful and dizzying.

His eyes fly open, and his grip is tight on Dean as he steadies himself. He is vaguely aware of Andais’s mocking voice booming around the clearing. She is laughing again about something, it doesn’t matter. Because suddenly Castiel feels powerful. He could do anything he wanted right now, and no one, least of all her, would be able to stop him. 

Dean is breathing heavily through his nose beside Castiel. They lock eyes.

“Ready?” Castiel asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” Dean answers. 

The final lines of the prophecy echo in Castiel’s mind.

…So warning to those who partake  
Unite thyselves to let her wake…

Castiel reaches over and kisses the prince, and a jolt bursts through him. For a single, wonderful moment they are an unbroken circuit, mind and body joined in a loop, as one. Then, he pulls away.

And he begins to speak.

The words flow from somewhere deep inside of him, as familiar as an old friend by the time they reach his lips. He speaks the language of the High Seelie Council, and though he’s never spoken this spell before, he already knows it by heart. He feels his temperature rising, his magyk condensing into a single unit, more than he’s ever been able to summon before. Molten energy flows through his connection with Dean, joining the pool that is growing and growing inside of him. Every word he speaks strengthens him. Every word he speaks weakens Dean.

There’s no turning back now. The words flow out of him in an unbroken stream, and now he has a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to stop if he wanted to. Castiel becomes aware of a light that radiates from his skin, growing more intense with each passing moment.

He glances at Dean. The man’s eyes are screwed shut as he grits his teeth in pain, and every part of Castiel hates himself as the words come, faster and faster until the light around them is a blinding white.

Castiel is only vaguely aware of what is happening around him: Andais, screaming as she finally realizes what they are doing, hurtling spell after spell at them with virtually no effect; the Starving One, attracted by the light they are emitting and slithering toward them; Dean, squeezing his hand so tightly that it has started to go numb. 

The Starving One has almost reached them, clawing its way along the ground as it moves with a snake-like purpose. It opens both of its mouths, gaping wide, and a rancid stench assaults Castiel’s nostrils. The thing bellows, releasing a purple wall of flame that shoots straight for Castiel and Dean.

He barely manages to raise his hand in time, forming a shield of pure white light around them. Heat crackles in his ears, making beads of sweat trickle down his face as the unearthly flames lick at the wall of light that curves around them. His heels dig into the ground as he is forced backward by the pillar of flame, only protected by his bubble of light. And still, he continues to speak.

He glances at Dean, the words flowing from his mouth, each one taking a piece of the prince with them. He looks pale, his legs trembling as he struggles to stand, but Dean is anything if not stubborn. Castiel squeezes his hand even tighter. This is it. He can feel the spell coming to a close. So much magyk has been bottled up inside of him that he is about ready to explode. The pressure builds and builds.

Sam shouts a muffled warning. The giant creature before them has stopped spouting fire, and its teeth are bared in a snarl. It lunges forward, mouth open wide, and right before it reaches them Castiel finishes the spell.

Power explodes outward from him.

It hurtles the giant creature backwards, and the thing lands on its side with a ground-shaking thump. Andais drops to the ground like a sack, her wings snapping like twigs under the onslaught of pure magyk. Pure power pours out of Castiel, forming a glowing white cocoon around Andais and the Starving one. 

He is vaguely aware of Dean screaming next to him, his body writing in agony as his very essence is burned away. Tears flow down Castiel’s cheeks. He wants to close his eyes, desperately wishes that this would stop, but he can’t. 

He watches the Starving One’s struggles getting weaker and weaker as the cocoon of pure magyk constricts it. More and more magyk pours out of Castiel, and he tries desperately to control the flow, to aim it where it needs to go. It seems to take years before the creature’s movements finally still. Andais also lies unmoving on the ground, her entire body obscured by pure white light as her broken wings twitch.

The flow cuts off with a sudden finality, and he feels Dean slump to the ground beside him. Castiel falls to his knees to catch the prince before he hits the ground. He gently lowers Dean onto his back, tears making his vision blurry. He angrily scrubs them away.

“Dean,” he whispers, but the prince’s eyes have fallen shut. Castiel hovers his ear above Dean’s nose, holding his breath, and is rewarded with a slight puff of air warming his cheek. “Dean!” he exclaims, his eyes widening. His breathing is weak and irregular, but there. Dean is still alive, if only just.

He elevates the prince’s head. Sam is sprinting toward them, calling to Castiel about something, but at the moment he just can’t bring himself to care. A glimmer of hope sparks in Castiel’s chest. He puts a hand on Dean’s cheek, whispering fervently into the prince’s ear. 

“Dean, we did it. You did it. I need you to wake up, for me. Do you hear me? Just wake up, please. Please.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open slightly, and immediately Castiel can tell something is wrong. The prince’s eyes, normally so vibrant and green, have been completely drained of color. His irises are transparent and colorless, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot and red. 

“Oh, no…” Castiel breathes.

Dean weakly reaches a hand up to Castiel’s face, brushing an errant lock of hair off of his forehead. “Cas,” he murmurs, and his voice is a choked, ragged mess. Tears flow down Castiel’s cheeks, dripping off of his chin and onto Dean’s face. And in this moment, Castiel knows he hadn’t ended the spell early enough. It’s too late. 

“Cas, I…” Dean begins, and then he begins to cough, a dry, heaving cough that has him shaking. Castiel clutches the prince’s face tightly in his hands, shaking his head as if doing so would be able to stop the inevitable. Dean just makes a feeble attempt at a smile. “You did good, Cas. You… did…” 

Dean lets out his breath in a small puff. His arm falls to the ground beside him as his eyes glaze over, unseeing as they stare at the sky.

“No,” Castiel breathes just as Sam reaches them. 

“Is he-,” Sam begins to ask, his voice breaking, but Castiel interrupts him.

“No! He’s not- Dean, you can’t do this to me. Wake up, please, wake up!” He shakes the prince’s shoulders forcefully, but Dean remains limp in his arms. “Come on, Dean! Stop this. Just… stop this.” He feels Sam place a hand on his shoulder, trying to gently pull him away, but Castiel wrenches out of his grasp. 

He buries his face into the cloth of Dean’s jerkin, and heaving sobs rack his body. He had done this. God, he had killed Dean. This was all his fault. He should have never agreed to this plan should have tried to find another way. Nothing was worth this price. Nothing had ever hurt like this. 

Castiel closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest against Dean’s. He clutches the prince’s face tightly, and suddenly memories of Dean are swirling before his eyes. On the road, his head thrown back mid-laughter. Holding each other in the Forest of Inle after Dean was forced to re-live his mother’s death. A first kiss in a darkened woods. Fighting in the castle courtyard. Swatting Dean’s hands away as they make a sneaky grab at his ass. Talking through the night when both of them can’t sleep.

He suddenly becomes aware of a warm feeling in his hands, a strange sensation that is unfamiliar yet feels right. He lets the feeling grow, his magyk swirling lazily around him, making his whole body tingle. The warmth begins to leave his body through his points of contact with Dean.

Castiel gets the sense that he is giving away something incredibly important to him, but at the moment he doesn’t care. This feels right, instinctively right, and even if whatever this is means making a sacrifice, he is willing to do it. Whatever it takes to make things right. 

The feeling grows and grows in intensity, and suddenly Castiel feels something rip inside of him. Half of the thing flows down his arms, through his hands, and into Dean. Pain flows through him, bright and intense, as he gasps for air. The other half nestles itself deeper into Castiel, carving a new niche. The breath is knocked out of Castiel as the warmth leaves him, and he collapses onto Dean.

Just as the prince takes a breath.

-

Dean slowly rises to consciousness, keeping his eyes gently closed. He takes a moment to try to orient himself, breathing deeply. He is lying on something soft. His body aches everywhere. He doesn’t know where he is. What the hell had happened? Hazy half-memories float through his mind, blurry and confusing, but they only make things less clear. 

His eyes flutter open, and he is immediately bombarded by bright sunlight. He squeezes them shut quickly, letting out a small groan. Immediately, somebody stirs beside him.

“…Dean?” The voice is familiar and weary. Castiel sounds exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept in days. “Dean, are you awake?” He speaks without much hope, as if this has happened before with no result. 

Dean hums a vague affirmative sound without opening his eyes. Suddenly there is a flurry of movement beside him as Castiel grabs his hand tightly. 

“Dean! You’re… finally, you’re awake!” 

He tries again, opening his eyes in a squint and letting them adjust. They’re in a small room, a large window set in the stone wall letting sunlight in. Dean lies on a bed, and sitting next to him is a very disheveled looking Castiel. Circles ring the faerie’s eyes, and his hair is sticking up in all directions. His clothes are wrinkled, as if he hasn’t bothered to change them. 

Dean can’t stop the grin that threatens to consume his face. Castiel looks so damn excited, his smile more radiant than he’s ever seen it. He can’t stop himself from reaching up with a weak arm, to grab the faerie’s collar and pull him in for a kiss.

He feels Castiel melt into him, his lips pliable and soft against Dean’s. Dean tries to pull himself up, to deepen the kiss, but pain twinges in his torso. He winces, and Castiel pulls away quickly.

“You should be resting,” he says rather regretfully, though a hint of a smile is still playing at the corners of his lips. He sits back in the chair, still holding Dean’s hand. “After what happened, you need it.”

Dean suddenly frowns, his good mood leaving him in a heartbeat. “What the hell happened? Where are we, anyway?”

“We’re back at the castle-,” Castiel begins, but Dean interrupts him.

“What?” he exclaims. “Not Eridor?” At the faerie’s nod, his eyes grow wide. “How is that possible? How did we get back so fast?”

“We didn’t. It took us almost a month to get back. We decided to skirt the edge of the Forest of Inle, so it took us almost twice as long. Though we did manage to buy some horses early on, so luckily we didn’t have to make the whole journey on foot.”

Dean stares. He had been asleep the whole time? “How is that possible? What happened to me?”

“I was trying to explain, Dean. Stop interrupting.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Castiel smiles again. “I’m just happy you’re awake. I was starting to think… well, never mind. How much do you remember?”

Dean squints, shuffling through his memories. “I remember getting to the tower, and seeing that ugly son of a bitch appear and come toward us. Then Sammy distracted it, you grabbed my hand, and then there was the weirdest feeling. Like you were inside of me, or something.” He cuts himself off, smirking. “Though not in the way I would have liked.”

Castiel colors, shifting uncomfortably, and Dean plasters a huge, shit eating grin on his face. “I’m just messin’ with you, Cas...” Suddenly, he has an idea, and he wrestles his expression under his control. It takes all his willpower to say the following words with a straight face. “After all, I’m a top.” 

The faerie chokes, his face turning even redder. “Dean!” he barks, but the ghost of a smile hovers over his lips. “Get back to the point.”

Dean snorts as he shifts in the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Fine, fine. Then you started saying the spell, and that felt fucking awful. Like you ripped out a piece of me with every word. Seriously, that was the worst. Well, almost. Then you finished the spell. That felt…. Well…” he cringes, the memory coming back to him. As the power had been pulled from him to Castiel, the pain burning through him had been unbearable. It had felt like every cell in his body had been set on fire, burning him from the inside out. “That sucked. I don’t remember anything after that.”

Castiel bites his lip, looking at Dean with regretful eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean,” is all he says, but it’s enough. Dean can sense the sincerity, the feeling, behind those words. 

“Not a problem. I’m fine now, I guess. You’re gonna need something better than a soul-sucking spell to throw at me next time you’re trying to kill me.”

“I didn’t try to kill you. I succeeded.”

Dean gapes. “Wait… what?”

“You were dead, Dean.” Castiel meets his eyes, and he’s shocked to see tears welling up in them. One trails down the faerie’s cheek, hanging suspended on his jaw for a moment before dripping onto the bedcover. “And I had killed you. I felt like a murderer. Like a monster.”

“Cas, look at me,” Dean says, bringing a hand up to wipe away the tears welling from Castiel’s eyes. “There’s no need for the waterworks. You are the furthest thing from a monster than I can imagine. You’re practically an angel, actually. So stop all this bullshit about killing me, because you were only doing what I asked you to do. Alright?” 

Castiel nods, giving him a watery smile.

“Anyway,” Dean continues. “If I was dead, how am I here right now?”

Castiel shakes his head, bringing a hand up to catch Dean’s. “That’s what we’re not sure about. I think I know what happened, but it’s only a theory. And if it were true, it would be the first time in history for something like this to happen.”

“Something like what? Come on, Cas, you’re killing me!”

“I think I gave you part of my soul. In fact, I’m certain that’s what happened.”

Dean gapes, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles for words. He looks down at himself, as if he expected to be able to see evidence of Castiel’s soul somewhere, but he seems fairly normal. “How…” he breathes. It’s all he can manage to say. 

“I just… did what felt right. I closed my eyes, touched your face, and let my magyk do the rest.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t really know what it means for either of us. I know I feel different. I think… I think I’m mortal now. Look.” Castiel turns, and it takes a second for Dean to realize that he looks different. Much different. 

His wings are gone.

“Cas!” he shouts, sitting straight up in bed and ignoring the protests that his body makes. Dean can’t believe that he hadn’t noticed until now. “Fuck! When the hell did that happen?” 

“Dean, you should lie down-,” 

“Screw lying down. Are you okay? What happened?”

Castiel sighs. “Sam told me that after I did split my soul with you, I passed out, and my wings sort of… crumbled away.” He shrugs. “I’ve had a while to get used to the idea. To be honest, being human doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.”

Dean reaches out, touching the space between Castiel’s shoulder blades to confirm for himself that they are really gone. He feels a pang of loss for the beautiful blue wings, the ones that shimmered and turned different shades of translucent blue in the light. “I’m gonna miss them,” he finds himself saying.

“Me too,” Castiel sighs. “But I’ve been thinking about what this means, now that you have half of my soul inside of you. You know the deal you made with Lilith?”

Dean nods, hope growing inside of him as he catches on to the faerie’s train of thought. “Do you think I’m off the hook?”

“You should be. They didn’t mark my soul, after all.”

Dean grins, pulling Castiel in for a hug. He holds him tightly, a giddy relieved feeling fizzling through his veins like soda pop. “Thank you, Cas. Holy shit. Thank you.”

Castiel’s arms wrap around him, squeezing him tightly. “No, thank you,” he murmurs in Dean’s ear. His breath is warm and comforting. “You saved the kingdom. You saved all of us.”

Suddenly, Dean remembers something. He pulls back, grabbing Castiel’s shoulders. “How’s Lisa? Is she alright? Is she-,”

“She’s fine. She woke up once we killed Andais.”

“Does she know?”

Castiel doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about. “Yeah. She knows everything.”

Dean swallows audibly. “What… I mean, is she…?” 

A smile appears on Castiel’s face. “She’s fine with it. She told me she always knew, somewhere deep down, that you weren’t really in love with her. But she’s not upset. In fact, I think she’s happy for you. For us.” Castiel’s eyebrows flick up as he looks at Dean closely. “Do you want me to bring her in here? I can give you some time to talk, if you want.”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pulling Castiel to him once again. “No thanks. Not yet, at least.” He buries his face in the faerie’s dark hair, breathing in deeply. He smells like earth and the ocean and musk and home. Dean wishes he could bottle this smell and carry it with him wherever he goes. “I just need you.”

Castiel gently threads his long fingers through Dean’s hair, pulling him away and slotting their mouths together. “I love you,” the faerie whispers, and Dean smiles blissfully. He pulls Castiel closer to him, gently fitting their bodies together. He lets his hands fall to the faerie’s hips. 

He doesn’t know how this will end. His father won’t be happy once they break off the engagement, and then there’s the matter of explaining it to the kingdom. But Castiel is a hero, and a Seelie besides. Maybe their relationship will do some good toward strengthening the bond between humans and fae. 

In any case, he isn’t going to worry about it now. There’s plenty of time to deal with everything later. He pulls the faerie down onto the bed on top of him, languidly capturing and recapturing his mouth. Dean doesn’t want to get too sappy, but as he kisses Castiel in this little pocket of bliss, he has faith that he’s going to get his little happily ever after. 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Just wow. That’s all I have to say right now. After all these months of writing, it’s finally over. And the feeling is incredible.
> 
> This is simultaneously the longest and hardest (no innuendo intended) fic that I’ve ever written. It also happens to be my first supernatural fic. And the first multi-chapter fic I’ve ever completed. Alas, too many projects of mine are left to rot by the wayside as I find something shinier to write, but the deadline for this year’s DCBB did wonders for me. Maybe I just need to start setting deadlines for myself.
> 
> HUGE thanks to my beta, Phansmovingcastle, for editing this monster. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. Also, thanks to multiple friends for reading and giving me their feedback, including but not limited to sherlockthehunter, dannyphandom, and thatbitchmary. I love you all. 
> 
> Thanks to padaleckhi for doing the art that goes with this fic! You’re talented and fantastic and I’m so happy you chose my fic. 
> 
> This was written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2015. Here is the link to the livejournal community.
> 
> Don’t forget to check me out on tumblr at fuck--yourselfie.tumblr.com. Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case you guys were unaware, this fic was written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2015. My artist was padaleckhi, who you can find on tumblr at padaleckhi.tumblr.com. Go check her out!
> 
> Edit: Without photobucket, this beautiful art seems to be lost. let me know how else i can upload as i am bad at tech and all that

Art by Padaleckhi

 


End file.
